Roller coaster ride

The last two days have run the gamut - incredible joy and soul-searing loss.
On Sunday, after a very, very long, discouraging run of competition, Teddy and I qualified in an agility trial. While, admittedly, we've competed only sporadically for the past 18 months, it was nevertheless discouraging to come away with only experience. Both of our runs on Sunday were fun and fast. Teddy stayed with me and did everything I asked of him. In Jumpers With Weaves Team Teddy made a couple of mistakes, one mine, one his, but we had fun and I was happy - especially since it had been months since our last competition.
Then in our Standard run - everything clicked. It was one of those instances when everything was going right. I didn't know if we'd qualified, the judge is a bit tight on time, but I was just thrilled. As it turns out, we succeeded and came away with not only a qualifying score, but first place in our class. Sheer, unmitigated joy.

And then there was yesterday. A normal day at work. I got home to find my sister Fran cleaning up a mess little Roc had made - he couldn't help it and he wasn't happy about it. I think we both knew then that Roc was tired of fighting the pain and disability that has progressed over the past year. So I made a choice and the veterinarian who has cared for him since the day I brought him home sent him gently into that good night. Sheer, unmitigated grief.

I love them both. Tears of joy and sadness.

Stop Wallowing!

I know I'm entitled to cry. I'm allowed to take my time through the grieving process. And I still miss Golly like crazy. How can I not, when for 13 years I had to walk carefully to make sure I didn't step on that little black form by my feet? But I'm tired of being depressed. I'm tired of having a headache. And I've got to stop crying - my contact lenses will build up an impenetrable protein barrier if I don't. And all of our friends have been so incredibly supportive - thank you! So I'm going to stop wallowing in my depression and grief! I'm going to try to turn my energies to more productive projects. I have been enjoying all the dogs (and their people) who've come to play at our ring! - Fran

A new normal

Life will never be the same again. Our lives change irrevocably when a member of the household is gone. I don't mean that we'll never be happy again, or that nobody smiles at our house, or that our family is doomed to perennial gloom. We are grieving now, but won't be forever. We're all trying to adjust to the new dynamic.
It's been particularly tough on Fran. Golly was her dog and for the 13+ years she graced our lives, Fran never, ever had to go looking for Golly. It's been a difficult transition. Every once in a while I see Fran glance up, look around a bit puzzled, then the sadness washes over her face. We'll all adjust, but it takes some time.
Ceilidh (Fran's 8-year-old Boston Terrier) went on a hunger strike for a couple of days, but she's over it now and seems to be adjusting. Dax knows something is different - but doesn't seem to know the change is permament. She'll wake up from a nap, look around and point those radar-dish ears toward the back door, expecting it to open. Roc is oblivious. We turn on the tv for him and he's happy. Especially if the Bears are playing.
What's made this difficult time more bearable is the outpouring of sympathy from friends. Some may question whether the internet isolates people or brings them together. We can attest to its warmth and community. Thank you.