It's a bit weird, and sad

I was wondering how it would be walking into the "Macadamia Ranch" after Caesar died.

When Andrew, Livie, and I were driving here on Saturday, I was debating whether to remind Livie, but ended up not saying anything.

As soon as we pulled into the driveway and parked, Livie said, "Where's Caesar?" I think she became accustomed to seeing him in the yard, walking to the edge of the driveway to "greet" us upon arrival.

I became a bit sad and teary-eyed as soon as she asked. I said, "Remember what I told you about Caesar?" I saw the light-bulb go on above her head, as I went on, "Remember he died because his body couldn't work anymore? So he went to Heaven to keep Sir Rafa and Uncle Hector company?"

She smiled and said, "Yes, I remember now. I just forgot for a minute. . . . He had a good life."

I almost burst into tears!

Anyway, it's been weird being here without Caesar.

My parents' house has this buzzer thing that alerts anyone at home when a car is driving either in or out of the driveway. Usually when he'd hear the buzzer, he'd sit in the hallway leading from the garage to the kitchen, as a sort of "welcome committee."

Well, of course, he wasn't there waiting. I knew he wouldn't be, but I looked for him, nevertheless.

Also, I will be walking from one room to another and although I know he's gone, I almost expect him in one of his usual spots - like in the far corner of the dining room, in the office in front of the windows where the bird feeder is (he liked watching the birds, squirrels, and deer that came by to eat). Or maybe in the kitchen waiting for a scrap to "accidentally" fall on the floor. Or even in what I always called "Caesar's room" where his water bowl was, and where he was fed twice a day. Or sometimes he'd sleep underneath the dining room table or in that little hallway leading from the garage.

Then last night, Andrew made microwave popcorn.

Typically, Caesar would do just about anything for some popcorn, even navigating the steps that were so hard on him and his back and hips in his old age - he couldn't climb them without help, but somehow he was able to get down, slowly and with pain.

So when Andrew made popcorn last night I felt a pang, because you-know-who wouldn't be clacking his nails on the wood floor, trailing Andrew and that bag of salty, buttery "gold" nuggets.

And then today, I found a sympathy card from Caesar's vet, the pre-printed part saying "We know how much a heart can ache for a lost friend. Please know that our thoughts are with you."

What got me teary was the personal note the vet wrote - "We all lost a friend yesterday. Memories of Caesar will be with us forever. - Dr. Foster."

We sure did lose a friend, a wonderful friend.

This is his actual paw print with "Caesar" imprinted above it. I guess they'd done this before his body was cremated. The ashes of each dog (both Caesar and his older sibling, Foxy), by the way, were put in a sealed bag, and then into its own sealed wooden box. There's a slot in the front of each box for a 4x6 photo of the pet. Anyway, I thought the paw print was a special touch (for some reason it wasn't done for Foxy).

Pizza Pizza

Today was one of those crappy days. It started off crappy, and it's ending crappy.

See, Livie woke up this morning, crying. She had a fever, a cold, and was just generally very unhappy.

While children's ibuprofen seemed to take the edge off her malaise, she still wasn't 100%. By the time Daddy got home around 5 PM, the ibuprofen had worn off, and she was back to being a very unhappy 4-year-old.

Well, by this time, we'd called the pediatrician's office to see what we needed to do. The nurse had us come in right away. Good thing they were opened until 7 PM today, right?

Guess what? On our way out the door, I saw that I had a text message. It was from my mom, stating that the family's Pembroke Welsh Corgi, Caesar, had died. I was shocked!

But I didn't have time to dwell on it because we had to hurry up and get to the pediatrician's office - the lab closed at 6:45 PM, and we needed to get a urine sample from Livie.

When we got there and Livie's pediatrician came in to check her out, we found out Liv has an ear infection. No fun!

And then she had to pee in a cup - normally something she finds to be very funny - and fun. Not today.

She has a UTI.

No wonder she's been miserable today. 

So on the way back, I called my mom to see what was up with Caesar. But she wouldn't talk to me, due to sadness. I tried my dad, who ended up telling me what had happened.

Bad, sad news. Apparently Caesar had gone into shock today, and when they got him to the vet's office, the doc thought Caesar had some sort of internal bleed. And according to my dad, the vet said Caesar "wasn't salvageable" and was put down.

I was somehow able to cry silently, thereby avoiding Livie's probing questions. However, my tears clung to my eyelashes, making my vision blurry. Not a good thing when you're driving, especially at night. So I wiped my eyes, and continued on.

But we had to get to the pharmacy to get her antibiotics. I was gonna go through the drive-thru, but Liv wanted to go in. Of course, that meant I had to face the pharmacist face-to-face, with red, swollen, teary eyes which gave me away, regardless of how hard I tried to sound cheery.

Ah, well. Maybe he thought I had a cold.

Anyway, we got back, and I immediately ran down to the guest bathroom where I burst into tears, and listened to my sobs actually echoing in the bathroom.

The funny thing is that I suddenly thought of a quote from the movie Gladiator: "I knew a man who once said, 'Death smiles at us all.' . . . All a man can do is smile back." Okay, so what I actually thought was, "All a dog can do is smile back."

Isn't it surprising, sometimes, what the mind comes up with upon hearing sad news?

So now, it's about half an hour past Livie's bedtime, and she's downstairs watching a movie while I type away on the computer. I really need to get her to bed. The last thing she needs while sick is for me to allow her to stay up late.

She still doesn't know about Caesar, though. I have to think of a way to tell her, but I don't want to do it now, not before bedtime. Hopefully I can think of a way to tell her tomorrow. Or before we head back to my parents' house, that house that now lacks our dear 4-legged companion.

But, first thing's first. Gotta get her to bed.

And let's start the clock - you know, because "time heals all wounds" and all.

Now, here are a couple photos of dear Caesar, whom I sometimes called Pizza Pizza (you know, like those old Li'l Caesar's pizza commercials). Or sometimes I'd call him Old Man, because he'd turned into one as the years went on.

This was taken earlier this year. He was on the patio out in front of my parents' house.

Here is Livie as she poses with Caesar over Thanksgiving weekend 2008.

She sometimes called him Sar-Sar. He loved her, and loved sitting next to her chair as she ate meals, because we all know how little kids accidentally drop food on the floor as they eat, right?

Sleep tight, Caesar. I'm so glad you're not in pain any more. Now, go run off and frolic with Foxy. And eat all the treats you want.

However, I miss you, old man.

Liv's a photographer!

For Christmas 2009, "Santa" got Livie a Fisher-Price kids' camera - waterproof, shockproof (meaning: sturdy in design, in case small hands drop it), and easy to use.

Here are some of her photos from the past few months.

She took a photo of Abuelita and Nonno at their house. This would've been around Christmastime.

She HAD to take a photo of Caesar.

We're driving somewhere. She took a photo of her view out the window from her car seat.

Here's Nonno at Marissa's baptism party (at a restaurant in Chicago).

Here's Abuelita's bird feeder, as seen from the den/library.

And here's the toilet and toilet paper from a hotel room. I think she and I were at Culver Academies' Horsemanship Weekend with Brenda and Aprilia. This would be our hotel room in Plymouth, IN.

Well, it finally happened.

Last year, Livie was obsessed with getting a fish as a pet. I'm not sure where she got the idea, but every day for about a week, about a million times (or so it seemed), she'd ask us to get her a fish. Conversing with us about fish. Begging. Pleading. Sometimes having what seemed like a nuclear meltdown.

So one day last spring, Daddy, Livie and I went to the pet store and let her pick out a betta fish. We then picked out a bowl, a special sponge to clean the bowl every week, a fish net (to scoop out the fish so we could put it in a little cup of water while we cleaned its bowl), some aquarium "gravel" - the bright blue kind, and a fake plant for the fish to hide in, as well as betta-appropriate food. Oh, and the stuff we needed to treat tap water and turn it into a fish-friendly environment for our new pet.

And then we headed home, with Livie talking non-stop about what she'd name her fish. Nonni, Nala, Nonni, Nala, Nonni, and finally deciding on Nala (yes, she was also on a "The Lion King" kick).

She was so excited when we got home and got her fish bowl all set up with the bright blue gravel and the fake plant. Even MORE excited when we finally transferred "Nala" to her new home.

So we fully enjoyed having a "pet," though I had to remind Livie that we couldn't pet or play with the fish like we could with a dog like Caesar (her Abuelita's Pembroke Welsh Corgi). She thought it was a blast when it was time to feed "Nala," I would put the appropriate amount of food in her hand and then she'd lightly drop it in the bowl. Livie thought it was just too cool when "Nala" came up to eat.

Well, let me just clarify one thing. SHE fully enjoyed her "pet" . . . now, while I enjoyed having "Nala" in the house, and LOVED that Livie loved her "pet," I certainly wasn't a fan of cleaning its bowl every week and ensuring its water was treated with the betta water treatment stuff. I thought the weekly bowl-cleaning ritual was kinda gross and slimy.

Every weekend as I cleaned that bowl, I'd think about how much I missed having a mammal as a pet, whether it was a cat (I'm actually allergic to them, so I'll never again have a feline pet), a dog (the best kind of pet), or a horse of our own at a local stable. For some reason, it always seemed easier to care for and clean up after a mammal. Plus, it was much less gross. At least in MY opinion. But, alas, a mammalian pet will be for sometime in the future.

Anyway, not only did Livie love "Nala," her Abuelita did as well. She thought it was such a pretty little fish, and loved the color of the gravel and the way the green plant contrasted against the blue gravel. Abuelita made sure to "oooh" and "aaah" over the fish every time she came to visit!

So . . . you've probably noticed that I've been referring to "Nala" in the past tense. And there is a reason for that - the obvious reason.

Yesterday afternoon, I noticed that our aqua-dwelling creature was not moving, kinda listing to one side underneath a leaf of that fake green plant. I made a mental note to check on the fish again in a few minutes, hoping it was just hiding out.

Well, about an hour later as I got Livie's bath ready, I saw that the fish was still in the same position. And I knew "Nala" was deceased. And now the time has come; I'm facing the need to tell Livie that our pet has died.

When I found a moment when Livie was distracted with her stuffed animals, I asked quietly asked Andrew to take the bowl down to the laundry room once Livie was asleep - I didn't want her seeing us taking the bowl away so I could deal with disposing of our deceased fish.

She didn't notice that the bowl was missing from her bathroom this morning as I was helping her wash up and get ready for pre-kindergarten. And I was momentarily relieved. I wanted a little time to figure out exactly how I'd tell her. Plus, since it's Monday morning and she's off to Pre-K, I wasn't really wanting to start her day off that way.

We also have Livie's 4-year-old well child checkup at the pediatrician's office this afternoon. I figured that since we weren't heading back to "school" today, and we'd be getting home early, I'll tell her then. That way, we'll be home and I'll have her favorite toys, books, and DVDs to assist me in comforting her.

So that's what finally happened.