Always finding the crook

One year ago today, my sweet little Casey had to be put down because lung cancer had suddenly filled his chest, robbing him of breath and comfort. One year ago (and it was on a Sunday), I was milling around the arts booths at Adam’s Morgan Day with some friends, enjoying the weather, the sights, the sounds, the happiness — when life changed, and instead of being happy, I was devastated.

Yesterday was Adam’s Morgan Day. Every mention of the festival, every time I hear the words, I cringe inside. I think of that moment, that exact moment my mom’s voice on the other end of the line told me Casey was gone. Every time I hang out in Adam’s Morgan, which is not that often given I live and work near it, I get a funny feeling. I immediately remember that day, I remember the pain ripping through me, the world spinning away, numbly being put into a cab and sent home alone, to cradle my stuffed corgi instead of the real one who was like a brother.

Two months after Casey died, I came into the house back in Ohio for Thanksgiving and only Harrison was there to greet me. It was like a shock to my system, and I held Harrison with everything I had, sobbing into his hair right there on the laundry room floor, where once Casey would have been jumping up and down, begging for attention.

How do you ignore that face?

Three months later, when I came home again, for Christmas, my parents and I were headed for an afternoon at a friend’s farm – which turned out to be the home of our breeders, Cheryl and Ed, who had first given us the wonderful gifts of Harrison and Casey. And then we found McGee. McGee is the best possible combination of Harrison and Casey — sweet and loveable but rowdy and a little pest all at once. An adorable pest to be sure. He rips apart his toys and contently chews on them for hours as Casey did. Every day, there are so many little things he does that make us think of Casey. McGee is a new (if not annoying) little brother to Harrison, and certainly for me. He is comfort and silliness and laughter when we needed it. Casey is carried on through McGee, yet he is his own little doggie personality, too.

Some people may not understand how a dog can bring so much to someone’s life, even a year later. You don’t know until you have it. Casey was as much a part of our lives as any human – even more so in some ways. And he still lives, just in our hearts now.

The first couple of days of this past week were rough. But little by little, day by day, it became easier to continue on with life, as it always does. I went to a farewell happy hour for a colleague, and laughed and enjoyed bar food and beer. I talked to my dad night after night on the phone, reliving memories of Casey, sharing pictures we had collected over the years. I talked to my mom, assuring her that her trip to Miraval was the right thing to have done, that it will help her in the end, no matter how hard it was to leave my dad and Harrison at home again so soon. Friends and family had many words of kindness for me, as well as people I don’t know so well, and people I hadn’t seen in years. I went to another colleague’s farewell dinner, and laughed and bonded and ate some more, enjoying every moment of being with my team, loving what we do while at our desks during the day and knowing that any of us would do anything for the each other. And then on Friday, my boyfriend arrived for the weekend, the last bit of comfort I needed to make me realize that even with this loss, there is still life to live.

I know still that when I go home at Thanksgiving, I probably will be sad again, when I don’t hear Casey’s bark in the laundry room or his nails skidding across the floor to greet me. I know we will all be taking turns holding Harrison in our laps, because it will be one dog to three people instead of two to three.

But – I know as well that my parents and I will be closer than ever before, and we are already pretty damn close. And I know that all I can do is give Harrison all the love that I have and he will give it in return. And I know that I have friends and family and a boyfriend who are there for me, through good and bad, happiness and grief, success, failure, all of it.

Because of some of the struggles I’ve had with my biological father and other family in my life before, I’ve always found it hard to trust that those around me truly love me, need me, want to be around me. And over the last six months, I’ve felt that feeling diminishing thanks to the support of those exact people, and the support of a therapist who has helped me realize that even though this one person wasn’t there for me, I’ve got all of these other people who are there, have been there, will always be there.

With Casey’s death, I know this now more than ever. I know that my friends and colleagues are looking out for me, and appreciate me. I know that my boyfriend is there in a second if I needed him. And most of all, my parents are there in more ways than I can explain. Since I left for college in 2003 and the moved to DC in 2007, my mom and I have talked almost every day on the phone, or at least online. It may be five minutes some days, or half an hour when we have a lot going on. I’ve always loved that, and now, I appreciate it even more. My dad and I haven’t had the same history – he’s not a big phone person, which I respect, so when we do talk by phone, it’s maybe once every few weeks, but we get a lot covered in that one phone call. But this past week, talking to my dad every night for half hour or an hour, about Casey, about work, about our lives, it has done more for me – and I think for him – than I would have expected. We owe that to Casey – our dogs have always brought our family such happiness – and Casey continues to, even in death.

It’s one week later, and life goes on. Football games, dinners with friends, and my daily workouts, which I had dropped over the last few days. Life may not have Casey in it anymore, but I know that because of him, all of life’s little peaceful moments and the relationships I have mean that much more.

The world around me kept moving. People were laughing with their friends, admiring art from the vendors, petting their dogs. A violinist was playing next to me. My head was swimming though, as I was looking desperately for the friends I came with, trying to comprehend that my 11-year old “brother” suddenly had to be put to sleep today because he could barely breathe from tumors that had clogged up his lungs.

A couple days ago, he was fine.

I’ve cried a lot today. I cried all the way home in the cab while on the phone with my mom, in denial that Casey boy won’t be there to greet me when I get home at Thanksgiving and Christmas. I cried on the phone to my boyfriend, to my best friend since 7th grade, to a colleague. I cried to myself in bed, clutching my stuffed animal Casey, the one that also doesn’t breathe like the real one no longer does.

And now, because I’m utterly at a loss of what else I should be doing, I’m writing. And crying as I write this. This is my way – I need to get it out of the way, so that I don’t have to pretend I’m happy and perky for a few days. So that whoever reads this just knows, and knows that I’m not going to be myself for a little while, because I just lost a huge part of me.

Anyone that knows me, knows how important my dogs are to me. If you’ve seen the dozen or more pictures pinned to my cube walls, if you’ve heard me talk about “The Boys.”  As an only child, they really have been my brothers through their 11 years. After losing my first dog Rocky, when I was 13, we got Harrison, a puppy, and then Casey a year later. They’re brothers.

Casey was always the more rambunctious one, but then again, he could be very mellow. We teased him about being bi-polar. We teased him because he was so small, clearly the runt of the litter. We teased him and called him Scarface because when he was chasing after tennis balls in the house, he would run into walls and doors and tables and keep on going – none of it fazing him. A year ago, he had multiple UTIs, and he bounced back each time. Last Thanksgiving, he had a problem with one of his vertebrae and after getting a steroid shot, was back to normal within hours, wanting to chase down the ball.

He was our Shadow. He used to follow me around the house everywhere I went. Then he followed my Dad everywhere- Dad was his favorite because he got a nice rub from him every night in the chair before bed – creating clumps of hair all over the hardwood floor.

He used to randomly run a lap around the rug, or the living room, and then just plop down on the floor, as if he had gotten whatever bug was out of him and it was no big deal. He would circle us in the laundry room while we prepared his food, and run back to Harrison ten times as if to say, “Why aren’t you coming?? Dinner is here!!”

He used to hate walking on the leash – we think because it made him remember when the breeders tried him out as a show dog – something he wasn’t into. Those old days also were what made him sometimes take huge roundabout turns to return a thrown toy to us – it was like he was doing a lap around the show ring.

We would time how long it took him to rip apart a new toy. It usually wasn’t more than five minutes. We would find stuffing all over the house. That wasn’t as bad as when he ate part of Mom’s leather purse, or Dad’s leather workout belt, or a baggie of protein pills.

He hated feet touching him. He would be curled up on a pillow (he always loved lying curled up on a pillow, so we called him Pillbug) on the couch, and if your legs came close, or dared touch him, he would shoot off the couch like an explosion.

He loved taking naps with us. PST, we call it when we nap with the boys- Puppy Snuggle Time. Casey would always find the crook of your legs to lay behind and rest his chin on your body.

Casey. Boo boo. Ceeter Cotter Casey Cookie. Casey Basey. He’s now gone, so suddenly that I didn’t get to say goodbye. All dogs do go to heaven, as the movie title suggests- and I firmly believe that he is up there now with Rocky, tearing up toys to bits, spreading the fluff all over the floor, chasing tennis balls a million times over, and laying on his back with his legs in the air, content as ever.

Now, instead of asking my parents to give the Boys a hug, or how they are – that won’t work. Harrison is the only one. When I walk into the door in November, I know it will all hit me again, and right now I haven’t even accepted that he is gone. For now though, I know he is happy. He isn’t in pain, and he went knowing we loved him very much.

Goodbye, brother.

Anyways, I was just thinking about what I used to do on weekends over the years at home. Nothing really exciting, and altogether, the chores part of it was boring, but it’s just little stuff I remember.

I’d get up on Saturday morning, and Dad would make pancakes, or we’d have cereal for breakfast. Immediately after, I’d start cleaning the house. Dusting, trash, sweeping, vaccumming, laundry, the works. That would take a couple of hours. I would try to make it entertaining by pretending I was giving tours of a museum, as I went from room to room. I’d also pretend my porcelain dolls were all girls in a boarding school. You might be laughing at this, but I was an only child and I was doing chores on a Saturday morning. How else was I supposed to amuse myself? If it was warm out, I’d also have chores outside. Weeding (blah), raking leaves, helping plant flowers, stuff like that. We’d have lunch. PB&J with milk, or meat and cheese sandwiches with doritos or pringles. My dad and I would polish off a whole bag. Later in the day, if we didn’t have errands to run, we’d watch an Indy car race on tv, or take a nap with the dog/dogs (Rocky when I was younger, and later, Harrison and Casey).

Sundays would be chore-free. I’d spend most of the day reading in my room (again, I was a nerd, and I fully admit it), or maybe I’d go out and rollerblade or play basketball for a bit. Sometimes we would make a trip to Barnes & Noble. Mom and I would go grocery shopping.

So as you can see, weekends have always been pretty chill in my life. I wasn’t out and about the whole time, and I wasn’t out playing with friends until dusk, or getting into trouble. The main themes were family, chores, reading and relaxing. Probably not that exciting for most people, but it really is telling because of how I spend my weekends now – they’re meant for relaxing. And yes, I clean my apartment on weekends, and read a book, or go to the store. Not much has changed except that now I’m alone – and it makes me miss my parents a lot. I miss Saturday morning pancakes, and sandwiches with doritos, and raking leaves with my Dad. I miss grocery shopping with Mom, and getting “race snacks” or catching a matinee movie and stopping at Graeter’s on the way home.

How did you spend your weekends growing up? What do you miss most? How do you spend them now?