A farewell
I was going to wait until this came up in my chronology of events, but I'm not any more. I don't feel like it.
Tomorrow at 1:00pm, we are laying our Bichon Frises, O'Riley and Bibi to rest. They're being put to sleep at the vet's office that we've taken them to for years.
Tonight, my brother and I went to Craftswood and picked up some plywood and pine, and with that we made a casket for our dogs. We painted it white to match. We don't want them cremated; somehow that feels wrong. Too quick... too sterile... it's not enough for a pair of dogs who gave us so many wonderful years of companionship.
I don't have many memories of Bibi. Her full name is Bibi LaMays of Highland Park. Don't even ask where that name came from; all I know is it was one of my parents... we got her as a puppy. Her first name was "Precious"... it suited her, too, the spoiled brat. Hehe. She was never rambunctious, and rarely played... but when she did, she used to love to play with an old work glove that we'd put over our hand. She loved coffee and junk food; we always called her the more intelligent one, though, because where Riley would dash to a plate of food and wolf it down even if it was boiling hot, Bibi would wait patiently for it to cool down before she nibbled at it. She thought she was a person, and frequently carried herself like one. She was at home in my mother's lap, staring across at the kitchen table, her eye on a steaming cup of coffee. One time, when she felt she wasn't getting enough attention while our family sat on the couch watching a movie, she threw one of her toys from the far side of the coffee table at us, and managed to knock over my mother's beer.
My dog, though, is currently sleeping across the room from me. I decided to spend his last night here at my parents' house, with him. He's snoring, and his mouth is twitching a bit. Even at his age, he's still a loud sleeper...
I remember the night we went out to get O'Riley. I was nine... I think he may have been a Christmas gift for me. There had just been a huge snowstorm, and I remember the chunks of snow looking like boulders along the sides of the houses. I think we probably got a foot to a foot and a half of snow by the time we left, and it wasn't a short drive; we had to go down to Chicago to pick him up. He was two years old when he joined our family, so we didn't want to change his name (his full name is O'Riley My Dear). It didn't take us long to discover he'd earned it. He had a fondness for tearing ass around the living room of whatever house we lived in at any given moment, making his own random running track on the floor. Every now and then he'd stop dead in his tracks and stare at us with a riled, demonic, crazed look on his face... and the moment anyone made the slightest motion towards him, he was off and running again. What a nut job. And his appetite!! Anything that wasn't bolted down was fair game to this pooch. The dog even likes red cabbage.
When he was younger, we'd take him out jogging, and every second he was outside, he was straining at the leash, trying to get out and explore and smell and expand his territory. And when I'd come home from school in the afternoons, or work as the years went by, there he was without fail, right at the door to jump up on me and lick me and give me his love, of which he never seemed to run out... actually, slobber OR love.
He slept with me from the first day he became comfortable with us, until perhaps a year before I moved out. Often, he'd curl up behind my head on the pillows. For awhile, that was his favorite spot. He and I were inseparable. And when I was sad, it seemed almost like he could tell, and came over to me to lick my face and curl up next to me and keep me company.
And let's not forget the fact that if anyone made a motion towards the door, he was there in a flash... even if he was downstairs napping. The dog had radar or security cameras or something. And if you let your guard down for even a moment, in a white blur he was out the door, racing about outside with puppylike glee until we managed to catch him.
One of his favorite things to do was catch a morsel of food or a biscuit dropped from someone's hand. More often than not, he'd snag it right out of mid-air, demonstrating his superior food-gobbling techniques. And he loved to play tug-of-war. He would hold on for dear life, whipping his head this way and that in a mock neck-snapping blow, trying to shake my hands off his toy.
As the years have gone on, Riley's stopped catching food in midair, stopped watching like a silent sentinel at the window for the slightest hint of motion in our yard, stopped going for food until it's already landed, and one of the last things to go was his love of dashing hell-bent for leather around our living room. He's gone hard of hearing and lately has had lots of difficulty seeing. His back left leg goes out on him and he struggles to right himself, and doesn't always make it. But inside, he is still the same old nut job he was 16 years ago when he joined our family. I will miss him dearly; there will be a hole in my life that cannot be replaced. A hole, shaped like this little, white dog, who gave so much to us and asked so little in return...besides the occasional table scrap, a few sturdy tug-of-war toys, and an endless supply of love.
Rest in peace, my O'Riley. I'll come find you someday.
Tomorrow at 1:00pm, we are laying our Bichon Frises, O'Riley and Bibi to rest. They're being put to sleep at the vet's office that we've taken them to for years.
Tonight, my brother and I went to Craftswood and picked up some plywood and pine, and with that we made a casket for our dogs. We painted it white to match. We don't want them cremated; somehow that feels wrong. Too quick... too sterile... it's not enough for a pair of dogs who gave us so many wonderful years of companionship.
I don't have many memories of Bibi. Her full name is Bibi LaMays of Highland Park. Don't even ask where that name came from; all I know is it was one of my parents... we got her as a puppy. Her first name was "Precious"... it suited her, too, the spoiled brat. Hehe. She was never rambunctious, and rarely played... but when she did, she used to love to play with an old work glove that we'd put over our hand. She loved coffee and junk food; we always called her the more intelligent one, though, because where Riley would dash to a plate of food and wolf it down even if it was boiling hot, Bibi would wait patiently for it to cool down before she nibbled at it. She thought she was a person, and frequently carried herself like one. She was at home in my mother's lap, staring across at the kitchen table, her eye on a steaming cup of coffee. One time, when she felt she wasn't getting enough attention while our family sat on the couch watching a movie, she threw one of her toys from the far side of the coffee table at us, and managed to knock over my mother's beer.
My dog, though, is currently sleeping across the room from me. I decided to spend his last night here at my parents' house, with him. He's snoring, and his mouth is twitching a bit. Even at his age, he's still a loud sleeper...
I remember the night we went out to get O'Riley. I was nine... I think he may have been a Christmas gift for me. There had just been a huge snowstorm, and I remember the chunks of snow looking like boulders along the sides of the houses. I think we probably got a foot to a foot and a half of snow by the time we left, and it wasn't a short drive; we had to go down to Chicago to pick him up. He was two years old when he joined our family, so we didn't want to change his name (his full name is O'Riley My Dear). It didn't take us long to discover he'd earned it. He had a fondness for tearing ass around the living room of whatever house we lived in at any given moment, making his own random running track on the floor. Every now and then he'd stop dead in his tracks and stare at us with a riled, demonic, crazed look on his face... and the moment anyone made the slightest motion towards him, he was off and running again. What a nut job. And his appetite!! Anything that wasn't bolted down was fair game to this pooch. The dog even likes red cabbage.
When he was younger, we'd take him out jogging, and every second he was outside, he was straining at the leash, trying to get out and explore and smell and expand his territory. And when I'd come home from school in the afternoons, or work as the years went by, there he was without fail, right at the door to jump up on me and lick me and give me his love, of which he never seemed to run out... actually, slobber OR love.
He slept with me from the first day he became comfortable with us, until perhaps a year before I moved out. Often, he'd curl up behind my head on the pillows. For awhile, that was his favorite spot. He and I were inseparable. And when I was sad, it seemed almost like he could tell, and came over to me to lick my face and curl up next to me and keep me company.
And let's not forget the fact that if anyone made a motion towards the door, he was there in a flash... even if he was downstairs napping. The dog had radar or security cameras or something. And if you let your guard down for even a moment, in a white blur he was out the door, racing about outside with puppylike glee until we managed to catch him.
One of his favorite things to do was catch a morsel of food or a biscuit dropped from someone's hand. More often than not, he'd snag it right out of mid-air, demonstrating his superior food-gobbling techniques. And he loved to play tug-of-war. He would hold on for dear life, whipping his head this way and that in a mock neck-snapping blow, trying to shake my hands off his toy.
As the years have gone on, Riley's stopped catching food in midair, stopped watching like a silent sentinel at the window for the slightest hint of motion in our yard, stopped going for food until it's already landed, and one of the last things to go was his love of dashing hell-bent for leather around our living room. He's gone hard of hearing and lately has had lots of difficulty seeing. His back left leg goes out on him and he struggles to right himself, and doesn't always make it. But inside, he is still the same old nut job he was 16 years ago when he joined our family. I will miss him dearly; there will be a hole in my life that cannot be replaced. A hole, shaped like this little, white dog, who gave so much to us and asked so little in return...besides the occasional table scrap, a few sturdy tug-of-war toys, and an endless supply of love.
Rest in peace, my O'Riley. I'll come find you someday.