One Year Later

As I write this, it has been one year and one hour since our favorite dog of all time breathed his last breath in the back of my van. It hasn’t been an easy year, and the transition to a five-heartbeat household has been most unwelcome, but we are at peace. The gentleness of that spirit who was part dog/part angel stays with us. We have a family mantra that reminds us to be like Mason, to enjoy life and to love without limits, to be happy in all things.

As with so many pivotal moments in our lives, we divide our happenings into two categories: before we said goodbye to Mason, and after. We prefer the Before, thankyouverymuch. But, as an update on the positive side of After, Mabel is entirely different now. She loves affection. Where she couldn’t have cared less before, she now waits patiently for our arrival after work. She snuggles more now, choosing to sleep curled up beside my legs. She demands attention when she feels she has not received enough. And, a change that I know Mason nudged her toward, she finally found joy in dancing with me in the kitchen, just like he used to.

And so we acknowledge the significance of today, of who we are and of where we’ve been, grateful for the companion that shared so many of our days with us.

We love you, Monk. We miss you still.

Mason and Vic, 2011

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My Latest DIY Gig

Tags

DIY canvas art, Emily Bronte quote, in memoriam, Job 12:10, love notes to Dom, mod podge projects, painting fonts, photos to canvas, soul scripture, wall art, Whatever our souls are made of

So, I’ve kinda been working on another project. It’s one that I’ve had in my head for several months. Originally, I wanted to somehow put a photo of me and Dom on a canvas and then script out the words to a love poem in a diagonal around the photo. I haven’t worked it all out yet, but it’s still something I plan on doing. Just… later. Because, really, this other thing morphed out of thin air and sort of took over the photo I was gonna use.

From the steps of the Jefferson Memorial in Washington, DC, November 2009.

Original problem: I need coordinating art to hang on either side of my dresser mirror, which stands pathetically bare at the moment. (And, please ignore the fact that the bed is not made. Thank you.)

Original idea: Why don’t I paint two canvases to hang on either side?

Secondary problem: What color to make the canvases? Match the room’s moulding? I have that paint. But I want it to look like art. “Hey, Aaron, do you know how to blend paint colors to make them look good on canvas, like watercolor blends or something?”

“Nope. I haven’t been to art camp in like, three years, Mom.”

“Crap. Thanks anyway, sweetie.”

When what to my wondering eyes should appear? My sister-in-law gave me this personally hand-painted wood-art for Christmas. When I asked my mom where in my home she thought I should hang it, she replied without missing a beat, “In your bedroom. You have all black-and-whites in there.”

She’s right. The bedroom would be the perfect place for it. And then it hit me. Black canvas. White paint. Suddenly, I had my outline. I just needed two perfect quotes. And two perfect pictures. Egad. Whatever “perfect” pictures might include me are so few that they have been excessively overused in everything that represents me. My favorite photo that includes me is from 2007. My second-favorite photo is from 2009…and it’s taken from behind me (see above). You get my drift, right?   Finding two pics of me that are self-proclaimed-“worthy” and not already over-used is going to be next to impossible.

And then my heart spoke up. I have been sorting photos of Mason lately because I want one of them on a mousepad for my office. I found some adorable pics. (The World’s Best Dog…14 years…we’re gonna have more than a handful of good pictures!) By the way, this is his “Did someone say, ‘treat'”? face. Lord, I miss this dog!

I was also saving a list of quotes that I pondered when we were planning Mason’s headstone. And so I went there. I cried. And cried. (And cried some more). But eventually I settled on one that worked with another quote I had been wanting to place in our home. As Billy Joel sang, it’s all about soul.

“For the soul of every living thing is in the hand of God.” Job 12:10

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

And there I had it. One canvas for Mason, one canvas for me and Dom. Two photos, printed in black-and-white to complement the others in the room. I had the photos printed through MPIX.com because I love how they print B&W photos. They just look awesome. (Get the True Black and White matte paper. It’s worth the extra pennies!) And I figured that under a slew of Mod-Podge, maybe MPIX’s photo paper could hold up like I wanted it to. My own printer paper? Maybe not.

So here is the finished product. What follows after this are directions for those fellow DIY-ers who just like the satisfaction of making something yourself.

Instructions:

Materials you will need: Canvas, word processor, internet access (if you don’t already have the fonts you want to use), acrylic paint, mixing palate or plate, brushes, photo, Mod Podge glue (matte finish), pencil, graphite paper, tape, paper towels and a jar/bowl of water. This project takes approximately three days to complete, in order allow proper drying time between steps.

First, determine what size canvas you need. I knew I wanted tall-skinny canvases, so I went with 12×24. I found a 2-pack at Michael’s for relatively little cost (with a coupon). This size works great for word processing design, too, because you can base it off of a standard 8½x11 piece of paper.

Second, decide what photo you want to use and what size. Cut a piece of paper to the size of your photo. An 8×10 worked perfectly with the 12×24 canvas, but so would a 5×7. You be the judge here. It’s your art.

Third, design your word art. I used Microsoft Word to space and position my lettering. Set your page properties at 0.5” margins all the way around, and then select “Landscape” orientation. This lets you size your letters to fit your canvas, based on text being 10” wide (size the text on each line specifically). You can set your page size to your actual canvas size and see what prints on letter-sized paper, then literally cut and paste once printed to make it all match up.

My favorite fonts are Cambria (standard font in MS Word) for the block print, and Allura for the script. Scriptina Pro is also a great font for a flurry-ish script. I use dafont.com for downloading all my script and special fonts (Search these font names on their site to download). Size ‘em up, making sure your sidelines are all even with each other, if that’s the look you want. Print on regular paper and then cut off the extra margins so that you can line up your text and tape in place.

Size up your text with your photo size – place it all on the canvas to be sure that you’re lining it up right.  Remember to use a blank piece of paper cut the size of your photo (or the actual photo if you have it already.)

Now that you’ve got your wording and photo size all worked out, go ahead and paint your canvas. (I had already painted mine.) If you’re looking to do a solid color like me this will be a breeze. If you want a mottled, blended-color look, you need to know what you’re doing on your own because I am absolutely no help here. 😉 I painted mine solid black, remember?

Once your canvas is dry, you will need to use graphite paper (either black or white, depending on your canvas color) to transfer the font image onto the canvas in the desired place. I taped my wording to the canvas and then slipped a piece of graphite paper (or, transfer paper) underneath it.

Use a pencil to trace around the letters, making sure to move your graphite paper as you go. (You will notice that in my example, the word “soul” is off-center. I had to go back and trace that word last so as to center it with the rest of the text. I could have done that earlier in the paper-taping process, but I didn’t.

When you are finished tracing, you will have this very erasable outline.  (Be careful where you lay your arm to paint, as you could wipe away the markings you’ve so carefully made. You also want to be sure not to apply too much pressure on top of the canvas so that you don’t inadvertently stretch it out.

Ok, here’s where we have to talk about brushes. First, I know NOTHING about brushes that I haven’t learned the hard way, and even that is pitifully little. What I do know is that you need the teeniest, tiniest brush to paint the words in your selected font. I didn’t know this on the first painting, and my letters lacked definition. See? Yuck.

That was done using a small angled brush, which I thought was appropriately small enough. But alas, I was wrong. In any brush, your paint is going to eventually glob up and if your brush is too big, then the glob just gets really messy. Like I said, I thought my brush was small enough. No, the next picture shows you the brush I used on the second painting. See, my mother-in-law is a retired certified ceramics teacher. The brush is hers. This is the brush she uses for eyelashes and pupils on the faces of her small creations. This is the brush she insisted I take with me when I raided her stash of supplies for my project. This is the brush that I thought would be too small for any grand thing I was going to do, but this is also the brush that made my words come to life on the canvas. It doesn’t look like much, but trust me, it is mighty.

So once you have traced your words onto the canvas, and you have your handy-dandy teeny-tiny brush poised in the air, you are ready to paint, my friend. Squeeze out just A LITTLE of the paint from your tube onto your palate or mixing tray (a paper plate works just fine). I squeezed out a quarter-sized dollop of white paint for the first canvas. I used only a twelfth of it and the rest went to waste. Go easy on the squeezing, is my point.

Now, be a good little student and color in the lines. You’ll be so pleased when you do!

The good thing about using a solid, dark background, is that if you need to touch up any goofs, it’s super-easy!  (See period after the word “God.” I messed up and brought the tail of the “d” up too far.  Once the ModPodge is applied, you won’t see any of the touch-up areas.

Now, where the Mod Podge is concerned, I purchased a small bottle of the Matte finish.  I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but my bottle of glossy Mod Podge looked every bit of its twelve-year age.  I thought the matte version might be a nice touch.  As it turned out, it is not a flat finish, but is not a super-shiny finish either.  I like the minor sheen that the matte option imparts.

Once the text has dried, you are ready to adhere your photo.  Take a generous size brush (mine is 2″ wide) and dip into a bowl full of the Mod Podge glue.  Brush onto the entire back of the photo before gently placing the photo in the desired place on the canvas. Get the glue as close to the edges as you possibly can.

Smooth the photo onto the canvas with your hand.  Once the photo was smoothed (remember not to press too hard) I flipped the canvas over onto a towel on my countertop and pressed harder with my hand to make sure the canvas was well-pressed to the photo.

Allow to dry (1-2 hours).  Clean your brush in the meantime and allow it to dry also.   Cover the glue so it doesn’t dry out.

Once the photo and your brush are dry, using the same 2″ brush, gently sweep Mod Podge back and forth in smooth, easy strokes running the width of your canvas.  Be sure not to stop in the middle.  Once the entire canvas is coated in Mod Podge and you are satisfied with the brush strokes, allow to dry (2-3 hours).

A few notes about this last step: Be sure to go all the way down the side edges with your glue so you get a uniform look all the way around the canvas.  I worried that the parts of the rounded edge where my glue seemed to pile would be a problem, but they turned out just fine.  I cannot see brush strokes on the canvas, but I can see them on the photos.  It’s not obtrusive at all, but I might investigate a smoother brush for future projects.  Also, the Mod Podge dries so clear that you won’t see any of the glue that might accumulate at the edges of your photo.  Just make sure it’s not a big glob and you’ll be fine.  The glue dries incredibly fast.  I believe within 20 minutes I could not see any glue on the canvas or photo.  It is at this point that you could put on a second coat, but I chose not to.  I hung mine on the wall 2 hours after finishing the last canvas.

And now, my friend, your work is done.  Hang your art on the wall with pride. (P.S.  You may want to affix a picture hanger of some type to your canvas prior to hanging.  I skipped that step also, but I may go back and add it later.)

Farewell Fourteen!

If I were a glass-half-empty kind of girl, I would have to say that 2014 sucked Shrek’s big toe. Our litany of misery reads like a warped version of the Twelve Days of Christmas. One seizure (Dom), triple-bypass (Pops), four family funerals, six months of chauffeuring, and seven months without our favorite of all God’s creatures, the incomparable Mason.

True, 2014 was a roller coaster of blessing and curse, bitter and sweet. And yet, it seemed to me that each time we sunk into the valley of emptiness and grief and the fear of what could have been, our faith buoyed our souls out of shadow and into sunlight, reminding us not only to be grateful for each day we have with those we love, but also that the end of what we can see on Earth is not an end at all.

So with my glass half full, I present our Pictoral Year in Review:

January: Let’s just go ahead and start this off with the one wonky, unrelated-to-anything photo of the year.  Here is a show-stopping pic of our trampoline on the first icy day of January.  As you see, sleet does not keep my kids from bouncing, or, er…sliding.

February: Aaron was in 8th grade and getting ready to celebrate Mardi Gras in high style with the Class of 2018.  Here he is dressed to impress – or at least dressed to make me cry!  (Never mind that his Daddy was dressed EXACTLY LIKE THIS the first time I saw him!) I noticed Aaron’s height compared to the mantle’s edge as I posted this, and was pleased to show him that he’s grown four inches this year!

March: Victoria made her musical debut at my grandmother’s house by playing the water glasses.  She’s not nicknamed Gracie Lou Freebush for nothing!

April: I’m not entirely sure this happened in April, but it is in the right place on the timeline of my camera roll, so it gets the billing, even if it’s not really a “picture.” I was joking in the last line of my reply, but this really did make me proud!

May:  Paw prints and heartbreak.

June:  Headed to Grandmama and Granddaddy’s house on a Saturday.  We decided to take Mabel so she wouldn’t be home all alone.  Here she is propped in the backseat and grateful for the outing.

July: Victoria and her sweet friends gave Mabel a spa day.

August: You know those moments when you’re just hanging out, enjoying life, and you suddenly feel like you’re witnessing the present and the future all at the same time?  Yeah, this was one of those moments.

September: My boss came over and taught us and our parents how to make Italian sausage.  Primo!!!!  Here Dom and my dad are learning to case the sausage. October: My first fully-completed Pinterest project.  I started this back in March, I think.  Finished it in October.  My favorite literary places. I’d spend a lifetime on Blackfriar’s Bridge just to catch a glimpse of Tessa and Jem. November: Dom and I headed to a fancy-schmancy dinner one evening, and he asked Vic to take our picture before we left.  So glad he did.  Wish I’d had the foresight to put the ironing board up first. December: All I asked for was one sweet photo of my darling children together.  This is what I got, which is pretty typical of them nowadays.  {sigh} Teenagers! There it is, folks.  Our 2014 in a nutshell.  Come to think of it, my glass runneth over.

Maybe Someday

Tags

grief, loss of pet, Mason's birthday, mourning

Maybe someday I’ll stop saying we have two dogs.

Maybe someday I’ll stop missing the thumping of his tail.

Maybe someday, when someone new comes over and meets Mabel, I won’t feel obligated to explain who Mason was.

Maybe someday I’ll be able to talk to someone else about his or her dog without crying for my own.

Maybe someday I’ll remove his name from the heartworm pill reminder on my phone.

Maybe someday I’ll be able to walk down the aisle at PetSmart where his brand of dog food is shelved.

Maybe someday I’ll look at pictures of him without a hitch in my breath.

Maybe someday we’ll have another puppy.

Maybe someday I’ll forget the feel of him curled up under my feet.

Maybe someday I’ll stop missing our old routines.

Maybe someday I’ll stop comparing Mabel’s personality to his.

Maybe someday I’ll be able to laugh out loud at his goofier moments without ending up in tears.

Maybe someday I’ll stop noticing all the “firsts” our family experiences without him.

Maybe someday I’ll be able to see yellow fur and a wagging tail without being reminded of the Mason-size hole in my heart.

Maybe someday.

Not today.

Definitely not today.

Happy Birthday, Monk! We miss you still.

Mason after a stormy night, March 2014.

Lost Socks

Tags

dog socks

When we set out to build our house and planned to have less carpet in the new home than in the old one, my primary concern was whether Mason would be able to walk well on the tile and hardwood which would dominate our floors. I scoured Amazon for no-slip dog socks and found a collegiate-looking striped set for Mason. For Mabel, there were hot pink socks with a skull and crossbones design. Most fitting, don’t you think? I ordered them immediately.

Sadly, Mason did not care too much for his socks. Sometimes I think he equated them to cement shoes. Other times, he tolerated the socks for what I was certain was the knowledge that the socks would keep him from sliding across the floor. Toward the end, Mason was so timid about walking on the bare floors that if we couldn’t find the socks, we often had to make a trail of towels and blankets to get him from the living room to the bedroom or vice versa. Admittedly, the socks were a bit tedious. If we did not remove them from his feet on his way outside, he would accidentally leave one in the yard, or more often, the socks would get wet. Trust me, pee-soaked doggie socks are just gross.

Mason sleeping with his socks on. 🙂

At one point shortly after last Christmas we lost one sock. Just one. Three remained. Mabel’s socks were too small for Mason’s big ol’ feet, so we rotated the three remaining striped socks in an effort to keep his back feet stable. We must have asked each other a hundred times where that lone sock could have gone. Dom swore Mabel took it.

When we packed up Mason’s things on that last day, we gently placed his three socks with his collar in his food bowl and reverently committed them to a cabinet in the utility room.

Today Mabel followed me into my bedroom and immediately began sniffing around my nightstand. And then she went all-out nutso, digging at the carpet and trying to reach her paw all the way under the nightstand. She was acting like she does when she has cornered a frog or a lizard, so I was nervous about investigating with her. But then again, no way was I going to allow some crawly critter to exist in my home, much less eighteen inches from my side of the bed, so I knelt down and peered under the furniture to see what all the fuss was about. There was something big under there. Something big and dark.

The thing seemed inanimate, so I grabbed a coat hanger and shoved it under the nightstand to hook the unsuspecting prey. Mabel just about came unglued. I pulled out the coat hanger and proudly displayed Mason’s fourth sock. Undoubtedly, he wore it to bed one night and inadvertently kicked it off while he slept in front of my nightstand. And we thought we had looked everywhere for that thing!

I don’t usually get too excited over lost or found socks. But, four months later, this reminder of Mason makes my eyes watery and my heart happy. And Mabel thought it was worth celebrating, too.

Monkey’s Cardinals

Tags

cardinals, spirit birds

Don’t worry…I’m not pathetically weepy this week. We are healing. We are slowly adjusting to life with one dog. Mabel is healing, too. She’s different now. Pensive. Surprising.

So here’s the story: From my family’s perspective, cardinals represent our deceased family members checking in on us, at least since my grandmother’s passing in 1996. Rumored to have been her favorite bird, the cardinal became synonymous with her spirit in the eyes of me and my mom. When my grandfather passed away in 2004, my uncle reported a flock of cardinals in PaPa’s backyard. Mom and I thought that a fitting representation of my grandmother calling him home.

The one exception I personally hold for this bird-spirit thing is blue jays, which remind me of my cousin, Sam. It was a blue jay who sat on a tree branch above me and sang on the morning Sam left our midst. I think Sam would have liked that he has his own bird. 😉

My dad embraced the cardinal thing when his last pup died. Now he and Mom both watch for cardinals and report on their backyard bird activity with great respect.

Even though we see cardinals flitting about in the field across the street from our home and even though I have kept a bird-feeder filled, we have never had them visit our yard. I attribute this long-standing absence of birds to Mabel and her stellar lack of hospitality. But yesterday Dom told me he saw a cardinal trying to eat from the bird feeder I recently relocated! Even though I had just cleaned and refilled it, moisture had reached the seeds and clogged the spout through which the seed is made available, so the cardinal wasn’t able to eat and consequently did not stick around. My bird feeder is cute as a button but rather meh on functionality. I cleaned it out again and put it back on the hook in hopes that the birds would return.

One of Mabel’s new quirks is that she doesn’t want to go outside alone.  It was no different this morning, so she ate breakfast in the kitchen while I made coffee. Then we ventured to the back patio together where we spied TWO cardinals playing in the yard, toward the back of the property and sort of near Mason’s grave. I froze, not wanting to scare them, and immediately looked to see Mabel’s reaction. She froze, too, ears perked. I was so afraid she was going to charge the birds. But she surprised me again as she quietly sat down beside me and watched the birds play, a new softness in her eyes. This is Mabel, people. Mabel. I can’t even lie…I started crying.

“Those are Mason’s cardinals, aren’t they, girl?” I asked in a whisper.

Her left ear twitched and four seconds passed before she charged, though quite a bit gentler than usual. The birds flew away and Mabel sauntered back to lay beside my chair.

But I think those beautiful red birds must carry some of Mason’s spirit with them, because one came back to visit the feeder at the edge of the patio. And Mabel let him.

To Mason

Tags

dog souls, dogs in heaven, grief, mourning, pet loss, The Rainbow Bridge

Hey, Monk. I know you’re busy running around with your new friends. I hope you’ve met Bull and Dayzi, Boo and Emma, and Sadie-Girl. I’m sure you have several new furry friends who are waiting for their family members to come and get them. I doubt you’ve had time to check in on us, what with all the tail-sniffing and tail-wagging you’ve likely been doing since you arrived at The Rainbow Bridge.

I miss you, Monkey. I miss you so much. Daddy misses you even more, if that’s possible. And the kids, omigosh! We’ve emptied three Kleenex boxes in less than 48 hours. I think Vic emptied one all by herself. It rained for the past two days, so today was the first sunny day that I was finally able to sit on my swing next to your grave. Your headstone will arrive in a few more days, proclaiming you The Best Dog Ever. It’s the truth, you know. You were the best dog for us. I hope you know how much we loved you.

Mabel misses you, too. Although she didn’t spend much time with you when we brought your body home for burial, she knew. She tried to play it off like it was no big deal, but she looks for you still. She hasn’t strayed far from my side. Even as I type this, she lays curled up just a few feet from me. It’s funny…the independent dog who loves to be outside doesn’t want to be outside by herself anymore. But, as I sat with you on the swing today, she wouldn’t come close. She stayed far away, choosing to lounge in the sun and gaze our direction. Only when I stood to walk back inside did she come near, and then she eagerly followed me in. She didn’t do much bug-hunting these past two nights. She hasn’t complained, but we can tell by the way she stares out the window or looks at the floor that she misses you.

I don’t worry about you anymore, so that’s the up-side. I find that I am free of the constant concern that you need to go outside and aren’t saying anything, or that you’ve slipped on the hardwood or tile and can’t get yourself up. Or that you’re thirsty. I hope that water bowl in the sky is big enough for you!

No, I don’t worry about you anymore, but I miss you so terribly that it buckles my knees sometimes. I really didn’t know it was going to be this hard. I thought I was ready to let you go. The rational side of me said it was time. And I felt like you were ready. But I didn’t know that I could go for three hours completely accepting of the situation, and then break down out of nowhere, awash with this unutterable feeling of loss. Did we do the right thing for you? Did we wait too long? Not long enough? Only in my tears are there questions, only in my grief, doubt.

I miss seeing you next to the back door when I come in. I awaken at night and listen for your breathing or your cough, maybe even the playful snort as you rub your face on the carpet, “quarter-rolling” as we call it. Daddy misses seeing your head spring up when we enter the room. He buried you by himself, you know. He asked us to let him do it alone. He needed that time with you, that last offering of care for the faithful companion that he loved so much. We know ultimately that we did the right thing for you. Death is a part of life, not the end of it. A segue to a Something More. It’s just that when you stand on the edge of it and peer over the rail, you can’t see the bottom, and it’s terrifying. I don’t like that part. I don’t like it at all.

I still have my necklace on, the paw-print charm that I finally wore on Tuesday. Do you remember me showing it to you? You sniffed at it, but I don’t think you were all that impressed. I had it engraved with your name to honor your place in my heart. In the last two days I have grasped it countless times to calm my mind or steady my tears. I told Victoria that she could wear it too when she needs to feel close to you. She has asked to wear it three times already. I finally took it off and put it around her neck last night. She slept with it. I felt so lost this morning that I woke her up to take it back. She understood. I might have to invest in a charm just for her. 😉

Lots of people have missed you and cried with us. Some of the people you just met a week ago, some you’ve known for years. Vic’s friends all cried and posted sweet notes for you on Instagram. They all loved you. You are very hard not to love, Monkey!

I had decided one time that Heaven likely occupies the same space that we do, just veiled by a shimmer that separates the dimensions. A “grey rain-curtain,” as Tolkien said. I hope that’s true. It gives me comfort to think that you can still run around in our yard, even if we can’t see you. Not everyone understands the loss of a pet. Some of my friends will think I’m crazy. Some of my friends will think I’m mis-informed, or worse, sacrilegious when they learn that I believe you will be in Heaven with me. A dog with a soul? Yes, a dog-soul. Not a human soul. Something different…better. Because you were better than human. You loved everything. You loved unconditionally and without prejudice. You showed us by example how we are supposed to love each other. Humans are supposed to be smarter than dogs, but I’m not sure we measure up. You are an energy, Mason. And energy can be neither created nor destroyed; it just is. I believe that energy is soul-like. And that yours, like many beloved pets, exists on a plane somewhere between Human and Angel. Closer to Angel, I believe. Definitely.

Go run and play some more, Monkey. We love you.

Big Yella Heart

Tags

Best Dog Ever, Death, euthanasia, furry baby, grief, pets, The Monkey, yellow labrador

Most pet owners think their pet is the best. The cutest. The most adorable. The most personable. I am, of course, no different. In our home, Mason and Mabel provide sympathetic comfort, fierce protection and comic relief. Actually, Mason takes charge of the first duty, and Mabel sees to the latter two items. But I digress.

Mason was chosen from a litter of free full-blooded Labrador retrievers in Benton, Louisiana. (“Free” because his mama’s owners were divorcing and hell-bent that neither party would profit from the puppies.) He was one of two yellow males in the litter. We picked him because while his brothers and sisters were gnawing on each other and brutally stepping on each other’s faces, Mason took every opportunity to worm his way to the bottom of the puppy pile. I knew instantly he was a snuggler. And that he was mine.

We painted his toenails fuchsia to claim him as “sold” and left him with his mama just a week or so more. On November 14, 1999 we brought a five-week old bundle of yellow, snugglable joy to our tiny apartment, just two weeks before we would move into our first house.

Mason was a typical puppy. He loved chewing his toys. He loved chewing my shoes. He loved chewing our satellite TV remote controls and costing us a bloody fortune. He chewed five cabinet doors, three sofas, and one baseball-size hole in the garage wall. He was spoiled rotten, one time barking at the ceiling fan because it wasn’t on (as he lay sprawled across our bed) and he was apparently too warm for his personal comfort.

Just four weeks after bringing Mason home we learned that I was pregnant with our first child. Mason was a wonderful companion during the sofa-rest days at the end of the term, laying beside me on the couch and gently resting his head on my oversized belly. I knew he sensed what was going on. I told him over and over again, “You have to protect this little guy and be his best friend, okay?” His eyes and tail would answer enthusiastically. Anxious about childbirth and motherhood, I would snuggle with Mason and tell him all the things that worried me. One afternoon I cried for half an hour because I could not imagine how in the world I would love my child as much as I loved Mason. He was my first baby. And although I knew I was being ridiculous, the tears flowed freely.

For eleven years (until he could no longer jump up on his own) Mason slept in the bed with us…with his head on my pillow. He would curl up on my side of the bed while I took my makeup off and brushed my teeth. He was incredibly warm-natured, and we referred to him as “The Heater,” because I could always count on him to warm up my side of the bed. Then, I would make him move so I could lay down, and we’d call him back up between us by chanting, “Monkey in the middle!” Mason would put his back against me, nuzzling the top of his head just under my chin. My arm would wrap over his body and under his front leg so that my hand could rest in the thick fur at his neck. He was my 88-pound security blanket.

Mason loved life. He loved the life he was living, and he loved all forms of life around him. The dogs of my childhood were great “buggers,” nailing and consuming any bug that dared enter their domain. Mason was just the opposite. I remember watching Mason watch a bug saunter across my garden-room floor. He perked his ears up in curiosity, but made no effort to approach the bug, much less kill it to protect me. I joked that as Mason watched the bug cross his path, he was thinking to himself, “Hi, little dude. Kitchen’s that way.”

The squirrels in the back yard were given the same courtesy. Upwards of ten squirrels would be playing in our yard when I would open the door to let Mason outside. They would all freeze in position and look toward the door. Then it was as if they realized, “Oh, it’s just Mason!” and they would carry on like no one was there. Mason had no interest in being territorial. Sometimes he would lay in the grass and just watch the squirrels play. Our next door neighbor would often come to the fence to pet Mason, once while holding a new kitten in her arms. Mason jumped up and enthusiastically slurped the kitten across the face, completely soaking the freaked-out cat.

Although he good-naturedly enjoyed life around him, Mason loved two things with absolute unbridled passion: my best friend/sister-by-choice, Stacey, and the flashlight. Stacey used to joke that she and Mason must have been lovers in a past life because Mason could not stand to be more than two inches away from her during her visits. As for the flashlight, whenever we would extricate Mason from the middle of whatever project involved the beaming tool and set it on the counter, Mason “went to Temple,” sitting in front of it, staring patiently in statue-like worship, waiting for the light to come to life and do its magic once more.

Mason, Stacey and Victoria; Thanksgiving 2012

When Mason was five years old we discovered that he had food allergies. We changed his food to a grain-free, dye-free, artificial-ingredient-free, expensive-as-all-get-out dog food, and nixed the PB&J sandwich crusts and McD’s French fries from his diet. And he rocked on. (Though I learned later that the kids would still sneak their crusts to him!) However, ear problems plagued Mason like nothing else. Those soft, floppy ears would get bacterial infections just about every time it rained. Mason despised his routine ear cleanings. All we had to say was, “How are the ears?” and he would duck his head and slink out of the room. The frequent infections earned him the nicknames “Funkmeister” and “Funky Monkey.” The biggest problem with the infections was the force with which Mason would shake his head. We always worried that he would burst blood vessels in his ear, and then one day, he did. I reached out early one morning to stroke his ears and felt a huge bulb under the fur. Mason’s ear looked just like a sopapilla! It required surgery, and he took every opportunity to look pitiful and elicit sympathy for the injustice he had suffered.

I firmly believe that the love Mason gave and received combined with the dietary choices we made for him kept him healthy and happy for a much longer time than we might have been originally allotted. A little over a year ago, our veterinarian diagnosed him with an enlarged esophagus and a potentially enlarged heart. But we already knew he had a big heart. We were fortunate enough to be held within it.

For fourteen years Mason has been a source of soft and cuddly comfort in our home. My children have not known a single day without him. Dom and I fell so hard in love with this creature that we do not want to know a day without him. But now we must. We never wanted Mason to suffer. As we watched Mason age and struggle with the effects of being an elderly large-breed dog, Dom would frequently ask me, “Is it time?” and I would always answer, “No, not yet.” I reasoned that as long as Mason still looked happy, as long as he could get himself where he needed to go, and as long as his tail still wagged and ears still perked up when he saw us, that it would not be time. But the day came when Dom once again asked if it was time, and my heart broke wide open as I finally said, “Yes.” Quality of life is more important than quantity, and Mason gave us more quality than we could have imagined possible.

We chose to take Mason to the vet for the final time during the first week of summer when Dom and I were both off work and could be with the kids and Mabel for the whole week as we adjust to life with one less heartbeat in our home. I held Mason close in the back of my van and stroked his ears as he drew his final peaceful breath, whispering to him that I loved him and that I would see him again, because no Heaven of mine will be complete if he is not there.

Dom laid Mason to rest in the backyard in the spot I picked out while we were building our house. He rests now between our lounging swing and a crepe myrtle, within arm’s reach from where I will spend my time relaxing, just as if we were enjoying any normal day, with him curled up at my feet.

As I searched for the perfect words to express how I feel today, I came across this quote from Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” (A.A. Milne). Thank you, Lord, for blessing us with this gentle giant and his big yella heart.

My favorite picture of Mason and the kids

Ciao, 2013!

Tags

2013, photo recap, pics by the month, year in review

Is anyone else in as much shock as I am that 2013 is over?  I mean, we just got it started, right?  2012 flew by for us in uncertainty and anticipation.  2013 was supposed to creep.  Creeeeeeeeeeeeeep, I say!

But it didn’t.  It’s over.  Gone.  Just like that.  Poof!  Our first year in the new house, our first (and only) year of both kids in middle school, a quiet and peaceful year.  The year that was supposed to settle in, get comfy and stay a while slipped out like a welcome house-guest, leaving the borrowed blankets folded neatly on the sofa.  We hate to see that sweet guest go, but are grateful for the memories it left behind.

January:  Aaron’s first Social Studies project.  He’s more a Science Fair kinda guy.  But he had fun with this.

February: We finally finished building the fence.  Whew!!!!        March: Victoria’s birthday party, of course!!

April: Lady, my Father-in-law’s yellow lab, decided she wanted to help Dom mow the yard.  As you see, she’s all in!

May: The kiddos, hanging out and being sweet to each other.  (Cue collective awwwwww!)

June: You know there’s always at least one month with no notable pictures to speak of.  This is the one for 2013.  As I attempted to re-upholster the wing-back chair myself, this is one of the wounds I suffered.  I know, I know…big whoop.

July: Mabel is a food thief.  Here she has absconded with a hoagie roll that Aaron had made into a ham sandwich.  The entire hoagie, minus these two inches you see, is in her big fat mouth.

August: For the first time in Caddo Parish history, three Mainiero children are at the same school.  I had to document it.

September: Some mornings the sun shines just right through our front door and casts a rainbow on everything in its path.

October: This one deserves the video.  It just does.  We told Mabel that this is what happens to animals who steal food off of my kitchen counter.

November: I felt like the Grinch decorating his dog.  Except I think Mabel and Mason wear their antlers cuter than Max.  😉

December: The frosty, sunlit view from the deer stand. It was prettier in person.  The best part was watching the cardinals play as the sun came up.  You know, since the deer didn’t feel like coming out…

May your New Year’s celebrations be fun and safe.  And may 2014 bring you peace and joy.

98 Dog-Years

I am grateful, if not a little teary-eyed, to note that today is Mason’s 14^th birthday.  Fourteen years for a Labrador retriever is, quite frankly, impressive.  I remember the life-expectancy poster at the animal hospital where my mom worked for so long stating that a Lab’s life span is usually 10-11 years.  Mason was 9 at the time, and the poster made me blink back tears, hard.

I did not think we would have the gift of 14 years with him. He is definitely the dog that keeps on giving.

Although he is shedding fur by the ton lately, has random difficulty breathing, requires medication twice a day and can barely stay two minutes outside before the humidity threatens to incapacitate him, he still gives enthusiastic hugs and slurpy kisses, he still smiles, and he still wags his tail wildly at the sound of our voices.

The Kiddos and the Monk, 2008

I had worried that Mason wouldn’t survive leaving our old house. I worried that he wouldn’t live to see the new house. I worried that he wouldn’t see his 14th birthday. I don’t know if he will see his 15th. Hell, I don’t know if he’ll see this Christmas. We know we are on borrowed time, and we are grateful for every furry minute of it.

Two Sleepy Puppies, September 2013

Despite that Mason’s favorite foods have always been pizza and French fries, I try to make sure that he eats properly, which I firmly believe has contributed to his life span and overall health. We diagnosed a grain allergy when he was five and had to change his food to some crazy-expensive grain-free brand. When I started evaluating ingredients in our food, I naturally evaluated ingredients in our dogs’ foods and made sure that we only bought treats and foods that met my ingredient standards. I caved recently and allowed Milk Bones back in the house, only to read the ingredients on the box last month and ban them all over again.

What’s a snack-starved pup to do? Well, if you’re my pup, you lay across my pathway in the kitchen and take a snooze while I spend the next hour whipping up some grain-free dog treats.

Monkey Underfoot, September 2013

In honor of Mason, the Best Damn Yella Dog EVER, here’s a treat recipe for the furball in your life.

Grain-Free Dog Biscuits (originally found on More Than Paleo)

1 sweet potato, peeled, cut into chunks and boiled until soft.

¼ c. coconut milk (I was out of coconut milk, so I used almond milk instead)

1 ½ T flaxseed mixed with 2T water to make a paste (I was out of this too, so I used chia seeds)

½ c peanut butter (I think I need to go to the store!)

1 egg

½ c coconut flour (you can use more to thicken if you need to)

Mash up the boiled sweet potato chunks and add remaining ingredients. Blend together and drop by small spoonfuls onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. I scooped out about a teaspoon at a time and patted it flat in my hand to make a smooth, flat biscuit. (You don’t want rough edges.) They won’t spread out at all, so you can put them as close together as you like on the sheet, without letting them touch.

Bake for 40 minutes. Allow to cool. If these had turned out very crunchy, I would have stored them in the cookie jar where the dogs know their treats live. But since these turned out to still be a little soft in the middle, I followed More Than Paleo’s advice and stored them in the fridge. Now the pups think they’re getting some of our food!

Happy Birthday, Monkasaurus! We love ya to the moon and back!