Being a Grown Up

As kids, we're in such a rush to grow up.  To be an adult and do cool adult things sounds so fantastic, so hip.  But no one tells you (or maybe they did, and I wasn't listening) that being a grown up sucks.  There's no one else to defer major decisions to.  You can't call up your mom and say, "please make this major life decision for me."  Well, maybe some people can, but that's not how I was raised.  I am 30+ years old.  It's time to put on the big girl panties and make the life-altering decisions. 

And so it was over Easter weekend that the hubby and I had to decide what to do with our 10-year-old lab mix, Pete.  Without going into detail, dire circumstances made us come face to face with one of my worst nightmares. 

In August of 2003, Pete was a mangy-haired stray that wondered up to the Tulsa Zoo's entrance (my former employer).  He weighed only 70 lbs on what was supposed to be a 100 lb frame.  He was malnourished, dehydrated and rotten with ticks and fleas.  It made perfect sense to me to take him home.  Over the course of a month, he came back to life and thrived for the next 9 years.  He was great with our two girl dogs, but horrible with any other dogs, especially if he was on his leash.  It must have been the "mix" part of him (we always guessed Great Pyrenees) that made him uber-aggressive.  He had a bark that would rattle the glass and a vertical jump that nearly knocked down a stockade fence.  Most of the time, he was big marshmallow, lying on his bed, with his head hanging off onto the floor.  I loved that dog to bits and pieces.  The massive amounts of shedding and drooling and Cujo antics were not ideal, but he was my dog.  I woke up with him next to my bed every morning.  I fed him breakfast and dinner.  I walked him come hell or high water.  I picked up his poop and sprayed off the patio furniture that he routinely marked.  He wasn't a good dog, but he was mine, all white fur and wet nose and toward the end, bad hip and bad attitude.

The day we took him in was one of the worst days I've ever experienced.  Not to sound melodramatic, but he was an every day part of our family, and to suddenly not have him anymore was incredibly painful.  I know life will go on and it will go on happily.  I have so much to be thankful for.  But, when I stop to think about him, I'm very sad and I mourn.  I know that we made the right grown up decision, even though it sucked.  I wanted to write this blog about him, in part as therapy for me and also to honor his time in our family.  Here's to you, Pistol Pete.