Year Of The 50

1999 was the year I turned 50. Also completely menopausal; fully hormonal - weeping if I got stuck in traffic, or conversely wanting to get out of the car with the tire iron in hand.

It was also the year my father died slowly and terribly, and my mother died suddenly, three weeks later. It was not a good year.

Now you all may have different ways of handling this but my way was: to get a puppy, as fast as I could. (ok, I wasn't completely normal) but anyway - it worked. It kept me so busy I didn't have time to think about anything else, because he would chew up the whole house if you weren't paying attention, and then throw it up on the carpet, probably, later. And he sent hair flying to every corner of every nook and cranny - we've probably vaccumed up two tons of hair in eight years.

He stuck to me like glue. If he wasn't by my side wherever I was, once I realized that, I would have to hunt him up - because something must be wrong. That is, until Bob got sick. Then he would lay at Bob's feet. (How did he know??) Amazing.

But Bob put him in his car Monday night and met me at the vet, and then took him home in his car while I settled up - and my dog wouldn't get out of the car until I came home and he heard my voice. (he can't see, you know.)

He's my dog. Together, we know what to do. The vets need to know that this is a very important dog. He's the glue that sticks me together.