All Dogs Go To Heaven

This weekend

I could have expected lots of things.

Like maybe a post about my sweet baby AndrewAnd how he is growing and changing.
Or maybe a post about our trip to Great Wolf Lodge,

an indoor/outdoor waterpark in Dallas

and how darling Andy was in his frog suit

and how I couldn't get a decent picture of TJ

because he wouldn't get out of the pool and stop moving

for long enough for the flash to go off

But life gets pretty unexpected

I never expected to be posting about a dog.

Chasqui

July 5, 2004- August 27, 2011

We adopted Chasqui from MSGAO in August of 2007

and he's just BEEN there ever since
I'm so used to him, I don't even think about it.

A hip-height shadow

that follows me through my day

room to room:

Lays by me while I fold the laundry

Joins us on the floor of TJ's room every night for prayer

The house is strange to me without the sound of dog tags

TJ has loved him from day one

I think he liked having another creature at his eye level

they've spent thousands of hours this close together

foreground or background

he's just been there

the family dog

I Google'd "dog poems"

they were all cheesy and terrible

and Chasqui may have been a doofus,

but never cheesy or stupid.

Nothing really expressed how I felt.

So I gave it up.

Robert Frost's "Fire and Ice" kept coming to mind:

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Not that it has anything to do with dogs.

It doesn't.

But it does have to do with passion.

So maybe that's why.

I think we always knew we'd lose Chasqui in some bizarre accident

I just always thought it would involve food

after all the near misses:

the stolen turkey

the two batches of chocolate cookies

and the ever famous Christmas rolls

(yes, you may laugh)

The bizarre accident was all heat and running.

So I guess what killed him was doing what he loved,

even if it's not how he died.

I'm not sure what to tell TJ when he says,

"Chasqui, again?"

or, "Mommy, get a NEW Chasqui?"

"Chasqui" was what the King's messengers were called

on the Inca Trail.

They were elite sprinters.

We always thought it fitting.

If I have a regret it's that we didn't get to tell him "goodbye"

Kristen, I'm so grateful you sat with him.

No dog should leave alone.

Run swift, buddy

You were a good dog

and will be missed

Laundry Days

TJ has been so fun lately. He's really growing up right now. I love the phase he's in. Some days I want to tear my hair out because he is SUCH a two-year-old, but he can also be wonderfully charming and sweet and clever. Lately he has learned to say his own prayers. It's so darling, my heart melts; and his "prayer voice" is hysterical.

Last Fall we worked with him on getting potty trained. He did really well for a while, and then it just petered off and he decided he wasn't all that interested in it. He's so strong-willed, I decided not to fight him. This summer, he has decided for himself that he wants to wear underwear. It's the funniest thing. He has a collection of red briefs, and he is really motivated to keep them clean and dry. He still asks to wear diapers sometimes, but not very often. This is one time when his stubborn independence has worked FOR me. Not so much so when he decides to pour his own cup of milk. Yikes.

The red obsession has not abated. If anything it has intensified (the red briefs and his desire to keep them clean is another example of how his stubborn idiosyncrasies can work for me). I do entire loads of red laundry. When sorting dirty clothes, my piles are: whites, darks, mediums, and reds. It thrills TJ to no end when other people wear red as well, so Rob, Andy and I all have more red shirts than we used to.

I took a picture of TJ's closet after I did laundry this weekend:

He also really likes pink and salmon. He calls it "light red". In fact, the second shirt from the left is one of his favorites. It has a picture of a lobster on it, and the caption "Snappy". I like to put it one him on his grumpy days. For some reason I get a kick out of seeing him throw major temper tantrums while wearing it.

Andy turned 3 months old 2 weeks ago. I did take lots of pictures that day, but could never get one without his hands crammed in his mouth. The kid is a little turkey. The pediatrician told me he is definitely a high-needs baby. The vindication has made me feel a whole lot better about life. It hasn't changed anything, but knowing that it's not all in my head makes me feel like less of a failure. Just the same, I can't wait for him to get a little older.