It's Exhausting Being Loved that Much

I haven't talked to much about Toby around these parts since he became a family member. And I'm really not sure why because the little rascal delights me on a daily basis. I was the one who, before Sweetpea died said, "When Sweetpea goes, that's it for us! No more pets!"

But I was also the same one trolling Craigslist for dogs within a week of Sweetpea's death. I felt kind of disloyal, but I missed having an animal around the house. I would love to have a cat, but Bubba's allergies rule that out, so I got the next best thing -- a lap dog.

And Toby is a total lovehound. That dog loves people more than any other dog I've ever seen. If you're sitting down, he will be in your lap in a second, shoving his nose under your hand to make sure you're petting him. The other night I joked that his motto is "If you have time to set, you have time to pet." And even Mr. Daddy, who likes to groan that this dog was my idea, loves him. He's got such a sweet face that you just can't resist him.

But when we came back from vacation, something weird happened. Toby became obsessed with me! I think his new found devotion stems from the fact that I alone picked him up from the dog-sitter's house when we got back from vacation. Although he got along famously with her two dogs (and very famously with the large, female Rottweiler who was also a guest there, if you know what I'm sayin' and I think you do) (wink, wink, nudge nudge), I think when I showed up he thought "Aha! She's come back for me! She does love me after all!"

Because since then, this dog will not leave me alone. If I go to the bathroom, he's sitting right outside with his nose wedged under the door, whining for me. Same goes for when I'm putting the kids to bed. If I step outside for more than a minute he greets me I return as though I've been gone for years. If I'm lying down, he's all up in my grill. After petting him for what I deem a sufficient amount of time I literally have to hide my arms so that he won't keep pushing his cold, wet nose under my hand or arm.

Since we've been married, Mr. Daddy has always done voices for our pets. Sweetpea had the cutest voice ever, but unfortunately I'll never hear it again. It just didn't feel right to assign her voice to anybody else. Our cats both had voices. Occasionally, Mr. Daddy will bust out with Pigger's voice and I'll be like "What's Pigger doing here?" It took him a while to find Toby's voice, but lately he's taken to having Toby call me M'Lady, which cracks me up completely. It very much reminds me of my Medieval Lit classes and the whole notion of Courtly Love. I'm quire sure Toby would write me a poem if he could.

Yes, it is exhausting sometimes to be the object of this much affection, but it's also pretty nice to have one creature on this earth that loves you unconditionally.

Good Girl

We've had a lot going on around these parts in the months since I last blogged. One of the most recent, and unfortunately, the saddest, was the passing of our dog Sweetpea. Mr. Daddy and I got Sweetpea the first year we were married (twelve years ago) and in those pre-children days we did everything with her.

We took her on long walks, we took her to the park, we took her on rides in Mr. Daddy's truck. She had a good life. But she, like many dogs, was terrified of thunderstorms. Once, when we were living in Savannah, we came home from a night out during which there had been a horrific storm to find Sweetpea gone. We walked around our neighborhood calling her name. We drove around the larger neighborhood. We called Animal Control. We even called the police.

No Sweetpea.

As we walked into the house, devastated, we heard the tiniest bark.

Somehow, Sweetpea had managed to crawl under the house and wedge herself into the tiniest portion of the crawlspace. I was so thrilled and so pissed at the same time! Hadn't she heard us calling her.

But, as things often go, when the kids came along, Sweetpea didn't get the attention she used to. At least until the kids got old enough to start playing with her. In some part of her genetic makeup was some kind of herding dog and she used to love to trap the kids between the sofa and her body, herding them. But if we're being honest, things were never the same for her as they were in her heyday.

About three months ago, we noticed that she had lost a lot of weight. A LOT of weight. So we took her to the vet where she was diagnosed with diabetes. We began giving her insulin shots twice a day and she put some weight back on and she perked up a little, but we could tell she was getting old, fast.

And then one day, about three weeks ago, we realized she was blind. We think she could see a little, but her vision was definitely mostly gone. You could hold a treat right in front of her face and she wouldn't even know it was there until she smelled it.

And then one morning about two weeks ago, I walked out of the house and found her. She was gone. Mr. Daddy and I buried her in the backyard with her "soft squishy." Mr. Daddy created a headstone for her that said "Good Girl, Sweetpea." And oh, I cried. I cried for that sweet dog who loved us unconditionally.

For two weeks I looked for her in all her usual spots, running to greet my car as I drove up, looking through the windows of the kitchen as we sat down to dinner. Every time I threw away some scraps of bacon or a hotdog, I'd think "I should give this to Sweetpea," only to be reminded that she wasn't there.

This week we got a new dog, Toby. Some people might think it's a little soon, but I think that it's a testament to what a good dog Sweetpea was that I wanted to get another dog at all. She was a good dog and she will live in our family's hearts forever.