writing is cathartic, i guess.

The last time I had a day like this - where I lost someone close to me - was two months ago, almost to the day.  November 6th.  Ronnie and I lost our pop; he was the first grandparent we lost.  It was sad and hard to cope with, as expected.  And today, just like on November 6th, Jon was out of town and I was home working, editing photos for my brother.  And just like that weekend, today I was sitting around waiting to hear news of a loved one’s health.  Like I posted before, Rambo took a turn for the worse yesterday.  I video chatted with him (not ashamed to admit this, by the way) on Thursday and he seemed perfectly fine.  We had just celebrated his 16th Christmas with him a few weeks ago and as usual, he had fun ripping the paper off of his presents and spitting it out.  I snuggled with him like crazy, kissed him over and over in that fuzzy little spot at the top of his head, right in front of where his collar goes.  My favorite spot to pet.  Anyway, I spent the few days I was home playing photo shoot with him, taking pictures of him on his bed, outside sniffing the air, and snoozing on the floor.  For the last year he’d been fine health-wise, but had a lot of trouble walking.  My mom and brother had to lift him to go outside and help him walk, but once he got moving he could walk.  He was slow and looked like a drunk walking, but he managed.  He was happy and recognized us and still showed how much he loved being pet or rubbed in his favorite spots (under the chin!).  I anticipated that 2012 would be “the year” but hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

Yesterday marked his half birthday.  I made note of it on my facebook because at this point, the little milestones are worth celebrating.  I had no idea that would literally be the last milestone in my dog’s life.  Jon left town today and I got a text from my dad saying that Ram wasn’t doing too well.  I’d gotten used to the false alarms from my mom, but to hear it from my dad was another story.  Through today I went back and forth with phone calls until finally Ronnie got home from his photo shoots and texted me that this really was serious.  Since late this morning/early this afternoon I kind of assumed that when they took him to the vet, he wouldn’t come home.  My dad let me know about 45 minutes ago that they were off to the vet shortly.

He never made it to the vet.

I don’t know all of the details yet, but my brother called me just a little bit after that to say Rambo didn’t make it.  He was home with his family (minus me) by his side, though.  I bawled my eyes out to no one (remember, Jon’s out of town, out of state, actually).  Just like November 6th.  So here i find myself writing again because I have nothing better to do with myself right now.  I have house photos to edit, but I can’t deal with that right now.  All I can think about is how when I go home next week, Rambo won’t be there.  I think about my mom and how devastated she must be right now (she just couldn’t keep it together to talk today), as are the rest of us.

Rambo was more than just a dog or a pet.  He was a part of our family, as most other pet owners can attest to.  He had a personality just like any of us.  He came into our family when I was in 8th grade.  During my moody teenage years when I would be sitting in my room crying over something (another rockin’ D+ in math, surely), he’s come in my room and lick my tears.  Whenever I would be home on break from college, or even to visit when I lived in Massachusetts, every morning he would wake up and walk into my room.  I’d hear the door creak open and see his tail sticking up as he walked past the foot of my bed and over to my side of the bed, stick his snout in my face and wake me up.  Sometimes I’d wake up to snout in my face if I didn’t hear him open the door first.  I always looked forward to this when I was home.

Rambo was a part of my life for my 8th grade graduation from middle school, my high school graduation, my college graduation and my wedding.  I literally grew up with him.  I can remember summers where he would help me shuck the corn on the cob: I’d peel a piece off, he would grip it in his teeth and pull it off the cob, never once touching the corn.  What a pro!  When my parents would cook dinner, he always, without fail, sat in front of the stove.  He loved to be in the way.  I’d spin him around on the hardwood floor singing “you spin me right round, Rammy, right round!”.  So many good memories.

I could go on and on, but I’m tired from crying and I need a nap.  I appreciate the good thoughts sent his way.  If you have a pet, go hug them right now.