A post about a dog

I didn't even want a dog, remember? I knew I would end up feeding it and being responsible for it entirely. But I conceded. The boys wanted one so badly. Greg wanted a duck hunting buddy and the little boys went crazy at the thought of having one.

So, Greg took Ethan and Lincoln down to Utah to pick her up. They were in love at first sight. She was adorable, chocolate, soft and hard not to love. I thought she made me crazy - the cleaning up after her in the laundry room, the chewing everything in site, the jumping. But now that she's gone, I remember it differently.

Now I remember packing her around in a laundry basket in the front seat of my car when she was little. Now I remember Ethan running to hide in the tall grass and then calling to her to come and find him. Now I remember loving how she would sit at the back door while Lincoln and Porter opened and shut it 1000 times, every time wanting her to lick their hands, and every time she would. I remember loving how Greg would come home boasting about how fabulous she was when they went horse riding, never tiring, always listening. I remember my kids hating the nasty weather that kept them from playing outside with her. She loved my boys. I'm pretty sure she loved me. But I didn't know how much I loved her until she was gone. She was a lifeline for my kids, for Greg. She was a good dog. She was only 8 months old. She only lived with us for 6. But we loved her.

I used to smirk at people who act like their pets are like their children. But now I think I've had a little taste. Dakota was part of our family. I'm not sure I'm ready for another member. She will be hard to replace.

I never wanted a dog. But my boys did. And I suppose it's possible to fall in love through the happy eyes of those you love most.

Greg . . . sigh

Apparently while Greg was trying to make a repair of some sort at work yesterday, he bumped or shifted into a plastic pipe fitting which in turn cracked or opened and shot 230+ degree "concentrate" up his back and neck with some spilling over onto his chest. He called me from the local clinic to tell me he had been burned. Two things flew through my mind: First, Greg doesn't ever go to the clinic for himself, so the burns must be pretty bad; second, the tone of his voice told me that his usually very high pain threshold had been penetrated. Thank goodness for girlfriends who come at a moment's notice. I was on my way to the clinic within minutes.

By the time I arrived, Greg had already been pushed some morphine and was feeling a very slight drop in his pain. He was covered in cold towels, trying to bring down the skin temperature and give relief before more extensive examination. The diagnosis is 2nd-degree burns covering over 75% of his back, neck and a small area on his chest - about 12-15% of his body surface area. They dressed and wrapped his torso and sent him home with p.o. narcotics to try a night at home with instructions to call if it didn't go well.

We made it through the night. Greg's bandages shifted a couple of times, but overall it was an uneventful course. He's feeling woozy and nauseated, eating only a little and staying in bed with the kids locked out for fear of accidental contact with his burns. We'll go into the clinic daily for a few days for wound checks and dressing changes. There was some blistering, but overall, we're hopefully that he will have a quick recovery without any long term effects. Trying to work with the 3 littles and Greg in the other room has proved unfruitful, but I can't complain . . . because even when he's supposed to be needy and dependent, Greg doesn't ask for much.

A Bear

Yesterday was mother's day. And the, um...let's say 'most unique' gift I received was...

Yup, the carcass of a bear. I am one lucky gal. Bear season opened last weekend and Greg has been doing his darnedest to bag the "big one" pictured on the trail cam photos. This isn't that bear (maybe he's saving elusive "big one" for grandpa), but he finally bagged a good sized black bear. He got back late last night when he and his friend proceeded to "clean" and "dehide" the bear in the garage (seriously, folks. that's the prettiest way I can put it).

Greg really wanted Ethan to see the bear so I gathered Ethan and his blankets out of bed and hauled him the garage. Ethan, who was maybe at best less than 3% coherent, had to be roused several times to look at the bear. When Greg help up the head for him to see, Ethan pried his eyes halfway open with some serious eyebrow effort and said, "Oh... Hi Dakota..." and then promptly relented again to dreamland. Elaine and I were just talking last week about how Dakota has kind of a "bear" face. I am very happy, however, that I have a chocolate lab in the back yard instead of a auburn-colored black bear.

Now we just keep him frozen until we turn him into Greg's long awaited bear rug. Maybe he will find his home on our bed, with his head nestled comfortably between our pillows. Not.

Happy Mother's Day.