I awoke this morning to a hungry puppa. A four foot stompy-stomp Bean, asking for her breakfast... But we aren't supposed to give it to her. Today is Jilly's surgery. Her canine vaginal reconstruction, butt who am I to judge? I am looking out my window at the typical hustle and bustle of a Tuesday morning, don't they know my fur-baby is going under the knife? How could they act so callously? Going about their business as if it's no biggie? It's Jilly for crying out loud. The Cutest, Sweetest and most special Tinker in the whole wide world. Hubby and I had to drop her off for her procedure at 8am... but 8am when you're anxious is rough! It turns into 7am, which really means more like 6am and I am up, tossing and turning. Trying to snuggle the beegeebus out of this little fur-nace before I have to send her away and she comes back stiff, sore and in-dog-icated (a word I just made up meaning a dog doped out of their gourd). I am nervous.
Cue the nervous burps. A symptom Hubby recognizes immediately- as they were very present throughout the wedding planning. And the snapping, because I can control that emotion- I realize I get from my Papa. Because for some reason being in control makes me feel less scared. So I snap and bark and whine and complain- deferring all those really scared little emotions for mean and selfish overreactions. Walking in silence both of us nervous, this family of 3 (Lucy stayed home) open the vet door and are greeted by a smiling and competent face, which still doesn't make me feel better and the smell of ammonia and sick animals triggers the tears, so I reach down and touch Jilly's satin ears and she yawn squeaks- her version of a nervous burp. So I kiss her and tell her to be brave. Tell her she's the bestest Tinkeroo, and I love her. Then Hubby takes my hand and we bravely walk out of the clinic. And I cry in the Starbucks- keeping my sunglasses on of course, so no one is the wiser- ya right, except for the Irish keening sound I can't seem to control.
I mean, really, it's life, right? Sometimes it's good and easy and fun and sometimes it's surgery and falling down and paper cuts. Hubby says it's practise. Oh geez, I don't want to practise this stuff...I don't just want it to happen either... But honestly this is where my problem lies- How do you tell your favourite fur-baby (no offense Lucy*insert hot under the collar gesture) that you love her and that everything is fine and that she will be okay, it's going to be weird and painful for a while but hopefully it will be fine...Can you speak Peagle? (That's Jilly's pretentious mixed breed name*insert gag me gesture) I hope she knows that. And why would I think she wouldn't know? Maybe that's the point... If we live our lives and love hard everyday- when the paper cut stuff happens, we aren't scared that people or puppas don't know you love them. So give someone a hug or call your favourite person to remind them: It's only life and you're happy you've got'em:) As for Jilly, I think she knows.
Cue the nervous burps. A symptom Hubby recognizes immediately- as they were very present throughout the wedding planning. And the snapping, because I can control that emotion- I realize I get from my Papa. Because for some reason being in control makes me feel less scared. So I snap and bark and whine and complain- deferring all those really scared little emotions for mean and selfish overreactions. Walking in silence both of us nervous, this family of 3 (Lucy stayed home) open the vet door and are greeted by a smiling and competent face, which still doesn't make me feel better and the smell of ammonia and sick animals triggers the tears, so I reach down and touch Jilly's satin ears and she yawn squeaks- her version of a nervous burp. So I kiss her and tell her to be brave. Tell her she's the bestest Tinkeroo, and I love her. Then Hubby takes my hand and we bravely walk out of the clinic. And I cry in the Starbucks- keeping my sunglasses on of course, so no one is the wiser- ya right, except for the Irish keening sound I can't seem to control.
I mean, really, it's life, right? Sometimes it's good and easy and fun and sometimes it's surgery and falling down and paper cuts. Hubby says it's practise. Oh geez, I don't want to practise this stuff...I don't just want it to happen either... But honestly this is where my problem lies- How do you tell your favourite fur-baby (no offense Lucy*insert hot under the collar gesture) that you love her and that everything is fine and that she will be okay, it's going to be weird and painful for a while but hopefully it will be fine...Can you speak Peagle? (That's Jilly's pretentious mixed breed name*insert gag me gesture) I hope she knows that. And why would I think she wouldn't know? Maybe that's the point... If we live our lives and love hard everyday- when the paper cut stuff happens, we aren't scared that people or puppas don't know you love them. So give someone a hug or call your favourite person to remind them: It's only life and you're happy you've got'em:) As for Jilly, I think she knows.
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