Bailey, shortly after getting off the rescue transport

Guinness and Bailey

Pup Bailey with old girl, Molly

Yesterday I said goodbye to another fur baby.  My beloved black lab mix, Bailey, went over the Rainbow Bridge with some help from our vet.  I rubbed his head and ears and sobbed while I held my phone so my boys who are both in the service could "be there" too.  He died in our front yard surrounded by the people who loved him best not far from where both his pals, Molly and Guinness, also took their last breaths.  He is buried in the shade in our backyard not far from Guinness. 

For the last 20 years or so years I have had at least two dogs.  Many years I had three if you include Jeremy's dog, Jameson, who is a permanent resident in our home despite Jeremy's change of residence about 3 years ago. We are now down to just Jameson.  I'm not sure how he will cope as he has never been without another dog as a companion.  I am most worried about the Fall when we all start back to school and no one is here to hang out with him on Tuesdays and Thursdays (I have a full class load both days).

I have loved all my dogs...and granddog.  The thing is, Bailey was MY dog.  He was my constant companion from the time we picked him up off of the rescue transport.  He was a stray and almost pure black so most likely to be euthanized when he was offered to us through the rescue service we used.  He was not like other black labs.  He was not high energy, playful or interested in playing fetch with a ball or stick.  He did love to run though and play with Guinness and Jameson.  He would tear through the yard at what seemed like 90mph.  He also loved to bite back paws when rough housing which would bring his playmate to its knees and he was fun to watch when he played.  And winter?  His most favorite time of the year.  I was amazed this past winter when I knew he was slowing down that he got outside and rolled around in the snow and was almost like a puppy again.  Whatever abuse he suffered before coming to us, here he received only love and devotion from every one of us - even Emma despite his bite to her face when she irritated him one too many times as a toddler.

I spent a lot of time with Bailey.  I followed a Cesar Milan approach with him and he was well mannered, followed commands - even hand ones, and was a joy to take out on leash.  He was often extremely shy around other people and was not fond of young children - never mean, just wanted to avoid them at all cost.  I can count on one hand the amount of people outside of our house that Bailey would allow to get close to him at first meet.  He was definitely a one family dog.  Again, never mean, just not sociable with people.  He loved other dogs, however.

He followed me where ever I went.  If I was in the basement doing laundry, he was in the basement with me.  If I was out hanging laundry, he was outside with me.  If I was up in bed, he was on my side of the bed on the floor.  My shadow.  My old man.  Simply the BEST dog EVER.  He loved car rides too and we took him whenever we could until his hips and eyesight did not allow him to get in/out anymore.  And he and Guinness were my running partners for a very long time.  Two leashes, two harnesses and they could never contain their excitement so getting the harnesses on was always a feat.  I tried to run once without Bailey.  He literally took the hit from the electric fence and ran after me.  He probably would have stayed right with me, but I was always afraid he'd get hit by a car because people around here don't always slow down the way I was taught to.

Dogs teach people love.  They listen to secrets and never tell.  Their fur dries tears that no other human knows about and they are always happy to see you, get pet, be loved.  They don't ask for anything in return.  They just love.  Unconditionally.  This is why it is so hard to make the decision to end their life.  These decisions never come easy and they are filled with such sadness and questions of whether you waited to long or maybe you could have waited longer.   The vet told us yesterday that it was definitely time.  He lived a long and good life surrounded by people and dogs who loved him and cared for him.

There is a HUGE hole in my heart right now.  It's the size of a medium sized, black lab mix named Bailey...I'm not sure it will ever heal.

May 20, 1930

That was the day my Dad was born. I wonder if the day was sunny & warm like it is today or if the air smelled like blooming lilacs like it does today. I wonder what my Dad's older siblings thought of him and wonder if they missed their Mom since I'm sure her hospital stay was at least a week.

My Dad was born in Manchester, CT during the Depression. He was the the 2nd born son and also had two older sisters. He and his siblings (which eventually numbered 7) lived in a 3 bedroom cape style home on Spring Street in Glastonbury, CT. The house is precariously close to Route 2 now, but before the highway went in, it was all fields that one of my aunts used to walk the cows across. I know the boys shared a bed because my father once told me that he had gotten in trouble and switched places with one of his younger brothers so that they would get the spanking when their Dad got home. It did work, the other brother got the spanking although I'm pretty sure my Dad got one too once my grandfather realized what had happened. My father also worked on a farm as a young boy. He, ironically, drove my grandfather to his first AA meeting at the ripe age of 12. I don't know much more about his childhood. He didn't really share that much. He was dutiful to his parents although we weren't close to them as children. My grandfather died in May of 1976. I remember the day he was buried because it snowed. My grandmother died on her 76th birthday in July 1986. My father died on Pearl Harbor Day (December 7th) in 2006. We buried him on a cold, gray day (December 9th) while a bagpipe played. I thought I had cried every tear I had that day, but apparently I still have plenty left.

My Dad and I shared a birthday month with my birthday being 4 days before his. He often teased me that I should have waited the extra 4 days, but he always told me I was a terrific 40th birthday present. I know my Dad loved me. Despite the alcoholism and meanness that could come out of his mouth during drunken rants, he always treasured me and was proud of me. I was his favorite. There wasn't much out there that I couldn't have if I asked.

While meeting with a minister before his funeral she had told all of us (my siblings and I) that if we had anything to say that we should take the time to say it during his funeral service because that would really be the last time we could. She told us that she thought it was a good way to start getting some closure over the loss. The following is the piece that I wrote and read at my father's funeral through more tears than I care to remember. While I was sobbing through much of it, so were the people who loved and knew my Dad.

Dear Dad,

I'd like to think that I took care of mourning you when you stopped remembering my name, but it hit me all of a sudden that I didn't. Your passing has, instead, reminded me of all the things I miss most.

When I teach my kids the pizza pie song or teach them about the peepers on a warm spring night, thoughts of my own childhood always come flooding back.
I remember all the silly games and songs you played with me and the weekend trips to Aetna where you would work and I would have the run of the place. Oh and the vaults...remember? "Diana, put your hands in your pockets and don't touch a thing!" I wonder if I am still the only kid who was ever in those vaults...
I remember when I was in elementary school, I could always count on a bowl of hot oatmeal and that I didn't have to ride the bus to school because you would drive me every day. I had fibbed and said that riding the bus gave me a headache.

I remember our Saturday trips to the cleaners to pick up your shirts and all the other "Saturday" errands. I don't think I missed many of those Saturdays. I always thought of it as my time with my Dad.

I remember my rebellious teenage years and now that I'm a parent, I realize how much pain I must have put you through, although you never let on. Instead, you chose to always be there when I was ready to talk. I didn't say it then, but your opinion meant a lot to me and has shaped who I am today.

How many times I have wished to call you and tell you about something my own children have done...
About Jeremy's love of baseball and how he yells at the TV during sports like you used to, Rebecca's love of dance and music and how much pride I feel when I watch her perform, Thomas' sweet demeanor and loving spirit, Daniel's zaniness and his absolute love for life, David James' dictator like attitude...I know for sure that he has Bill Cone in him, and lastly, Emma's sweet smile which can light up a room (and a parents' heart) no matter what is going on.
I wish all my kids could have gotten to know you, but for the ones who never did, they will have to know you through my own dear memories.

Dad, I know you are in a better place and the jail that your body had become to your spirit is now lifted. I hope your first Christmas in heaven is well spent. Say hello to all the people I've already said goodbye to, would you? I know that they will rejoice at having you there even though those still here mourn your passing. I'll see you again someday. I'm glad you aren't suffering anymore.

Love always,
Your Daughter, Diana