Our Sweet Corgi Girl
"Lady Abbey Enis Puddin'chin"
Life is bittersweet. Abbey has aged gracefully, and at 13 she struggles with many of the same things I do. Finding a warm place in the sun, worrying about my weight, hoping my knees are going to hold out....and wondering just what happened to my waistline!
Five minutes ago we performed our now nightly ritual -- a thing best viewed in person for full appreciation. After an early evening snooze on her favorite pillow, she, not unlike me, requires a little extra boost for the last jaunt of the evening. We always offer an enthusiastic "cheer" as she stretches her back and checks the stability of the old hind haunches. For alas, without that last long final trek out for the potty run, there will be poopie-cookies -- count on it. She tries -- you can tell she tries, because there they are -- a small trail leading right to the back door.
But, tonight, the ritual seemed particularly tender. It was a great day -- we spent it together as a family out in the back yard sorting boxes for this weekend's massive garage sale and subsequent Auspicious Dump. All this while chasing "Dexter" down as he continued to devilishly sneak out after the neighbor's cat at least 5 times, each time returning with eyes cast down, wearing the True Smirk of a Trickster.
All day we laughed and joked, and "shovel our shit" -- years and years of accumulation. We all joke about that mythic and legendary time when we were young and our entire worldly possessions fit into our car. By this time in our lives we seem to unconsciously store more and more "shit" we don't really want or need. Mid-May when we began the process in earnest, it was pretty crappy going -- dull, hard and sometimes depressing. As we excavated, we found things that triggered old memories (more shit) that we may not have really cared to recall at all. But, once our attention was drawn there, it seemed that the simple act of acknowledgment and release felt like a the sweetest fresh sea breeze -- from the street where we will live, in Pahoa, on the Big Island of Hawaii.
Then, there's the really REALLY SHITTY parts - the parts that break your heart, and you know you have to make a choice. We have had to make such a choice with our sweet Abbey; she won't be able to relocate with us. Over the years, our numerous nicknames for her included "Nurse Abbey-gale," or "B.B.B." the abbreviation for Baby B, or simply "Our B Girl. Chauncey's name for her was "Puddin'chin" because as 18-month old best friends, they always shared the task of licking out our pudding cups.
Abbey has the thickest fur I have ever felt and over the years, it seems to have grown even thicker! Her fur is so thick that when we trim her toes each month (another ritual for another time) we also have to trim the complete slipper that grows between her toes. Why you wonder? Because the thick fur makes her slide on our hardwood floors; the old gal has a hard enough time as it is trying to get to the back door to "poop."
So here, we have come full circle with a royal flush! All this came to me in a flash on a beautiful evening after a blue sky all day -- in my yard, with my family. I came in the back door chuckling and pronounced, "Well, I certainly hope there is someone there to cheer for me when I need help taking a shit!" We both started laughing as Phil, having been a full participant in our evening ritual, began to applaud us both. And we all bowed in humble acknowledgement of....Holy Shit.
The hardest part of relocating is not the packing but saying goodbye to dear friends. Today we said our first official goodbye to our beloved yoga class who have faithfully committed to yoga for over three years -- and many of whom have discovered (as I promised) that they ARE actually TALLER!
