Farewell

We bought our first house in 2006.  A month later, my mom called and said she had found the perfect dog for us.  A breeder was selling Golden Retriever puppies, and wouldn't we like to have one for our new yard?  You see, my mom knew that if I ever owned a dog, I wanted it to be a Golden Retriever.  I think they are a beautiful breed.  I had also decided way back in high school that if I ever owned this Golden Retriever, his name would be Aika.  You see, I went to Germany in high school on an exchange, and my host family had a sweet Yellow Lab named Aika.  I thought it was the perfect name for a dog.     

So in 2006, Michael and I drove out to this breeder's house and looked at their puppies.  They only had a few left for sale and they were offering them at a discount to hurry the process along.  A mere $175 could get us the puppy of my dreams.  We wandered around the yard and scanned the energetic puppies.  I knew instantly which one I wanted.  Though the puppies all essentially looked the same, I knew Aika when I saw him.  We took him home and I thought he was the cutest little thing.  

He was the cutest little thing; under foot and easily excitable.  I loved him.  He was supposed to be an outside-only dog.  But he looked so lonely outside.  We let him hang out inside the house a little, but just in the kitchen, in case he peed.  Somehow the boundary kept expanding and soon he was everywhere.  

I loved him. 

And then he started chewing.  And chewing.  And chewing.  

I loved him no more.  When he was nearly 3, I told Michael I'd had enough.  The dog had to go.  We put an ad in the newspaper.  A man called about the dog.  Michael suddenly couldn't go through with it and told the man the dog already had a home.  Because he did - our home.  And I remembered that I really did love him.

For the first 6 years of his life, Aika was our baby.  At a time when we didn't know if a human child would ever join our family, Aika received all the love we had stored up for a baby.  He went everywhere with us.  We threw him birthday parties and dressed him up for Halloween.  He was part of our family.  

Aika grew up alongside our nieces and nephews.  And then he grew old beside our daughter. 

When he was 10, I asked the vet how long Aika would live.  He told me 12 years would be remarkable.

Aika turned 14 last year.  He was nearly deaf and had trouble walking due to arthritis. He was still loving and sweet and wagged his tail excitedly when we would pet him. Michael and I decided that if he ever stopped eating or couldn't walk on his own, that would be our signal to let him go.

On June 12th, Aika couldn't walk anymore.  It was a Saturday morning and I felt my heart fill with sadness because I knew the day had arrived.  We made arrangements with the vet and spent the morning praying for peace, petting him, and saying our goodbyes.

Michael made him popcorn as his final meal.  Aika loved popcorn.  But on this day, he didn't eat any.  He was ready to go.

I didn't want to be there when he took his last breath.  I told Michael he'd have to go inside the vet's office without me and I'd wait outside.  But because Aika couldn't walk, the vet came to our car and said he would do it there.  I'm incredibly grateful he did.  I didn't think I wanted to be there, but it turned out to be a tender moment between us.  I told Aika I loved him, thanked him for being a part of our family, and kissed him one last time.  His eyes closed and he was gone.

He was one month shy of turning 15-years-old.  It's rare and incredible for a Golden Retriever.  It's exactly what Aika was. 

My grief over his absence is sharper than I anticipated. I still catch myself looking for him around the house and calling for him to eat the scraps from the kitchen.  I didn't know it was possible to love an animal the way I love Aika.  He has left a mark on my heart and I miss him terribly.

I'm sure he's in Heaven chasing all the birds, eating all the popcorn, and lying in the middle of God's kitchen.  It's his perfect life.

Until we meet again, Aika-boy, enjoy it all.  I love you.

Miraculous

I believe in miracles.  No coincidences, no happenstance, but real, undeniable miracles.  

A couple of years ago I hurt my knee running.  It was feeling increasingly stiff and painful, but like any logical person, I kept running on it.  One day, I knelt down to get something off the bottom shelf of the lazy susan, and I couldn't get back up again.  Oof.

I've spent the last year or so trying to rehab my knee and get back to running.  It's been slow-going and I haven't really been able to run successfully on it without painful consequences.  My sissy was putting together a relay team to run the "To Bone and Back" relay in Idaho right before the 4th of July.  8 people, 5 miles each. She invited me to run and I desperately wanted to join. I gave an excited and emphatic, "Yes!" to the invitation.

And then I started training.  It went poorly.  I would run, have to recover for a week, run, recover for 2 weeks; I was making no progress.  I was feeling like I probably wouldn't be able to do the race.  I knew I needed to rest and strengthen my knee before I could run successfully.  I looked at the calendar and chose my drop-dead day to make a decision - the last day to begin a training schedule and still be ready for the race.  Then I started praying for a miracle.

Decision day arrived and I went out bright and early for a run to test my ol'body out. It hurt.  Badly.  I knew I wouldn't be able to do the relay.  I felt defeated, disappointed, angry.  As I was limping back toward home, I felt tears well in my eyes.  I had really wanted to do it and I was sad.  Moments later, a calm washed over me and I heard distinctly in my mind, "You will run the race."  I knew without any doubt that God was answering my prayers. 

I began training the next day.  It went mostly well - my knee was painful but not unbearable.  My pace had slowed tremendously, but I was running.  My goal for race day was to finish my 5 miles in 55 minutes and to have my knee hold up.  There would be hills and a dramatic elevation gain for me from my home at sea level, so I also wanted to be able to breathe.

Seems reasonable. 

Let me tell you about the relay.  It was my sissy and her family, my brother, and my 2 buddies from high school.  Our team name was Legs Miserables.  We laughed, cheered each other on, got sunburned, cranked the music all the way up, accidentally left Lewie at an exchange point while he was in the port-a-potty, and had the best day you can imagine.  

It was everything I wanted.

And my leg of the relay?  My knee had zero pain.  Not one little niggle.  I could breathe like I was at sea level, and I finished 3 minutes faster than my goal.

I haven't been able to run since.  Not one little bit.  I know without any doubt that my prayers were answered. 

Did it matter in the long run if I ran the relay?  No.  But it was important to me, so it was important to God.  I know that He propelled me through the race that day.  

I believe in miracles. 

Dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, DANCE!

Kitty was a forest elf in her summer dance recital.  She was the cutest little elf I ever did see.  I didn't even mind that my fingers were glued together with spirit gum from attaching her ears.  Totally worth it.

Look at her!

The sweetest thing was that she danced with her best friend, Allie.  They had ribbons as part of their dance and she and Allie were ribbon partners.  They were so excited.

And we had ice cream afterwards so you know I loved it. 

2nd Grade

We survived 2nd grade!

Even though Covid ruled our lives, even though Kitty only went to school in-person twice a week and with only half of her classmates, even though distance learning was BORING, Kitty adapted and thrived.

She even devised a brilliant solution for online PE.  They had a you-must-be-moving requirement during their sessions.  Kitty put her laptop on the rocking chair, sat on the floor with her Lego, and periodically rocked the chair so it would look like she was moving.  Improvisation at its finest.

Now on to 3rd grade!

Padre's Day

Michael sure is one lucky dog.

Kitty and I worked tirelessly on all his gifts.  It was like a sweatshop around our place. The piéce dé résistance was an intricate Honeyduke's Chocolate Frog that was supposed to leap out of the box when opened.  It took a long time to cobble together and made my feeble wrists ache.  And then that ding-dang frog didn't leap out of no box.

But it sure looked cool.  And Kitty drew an awesome collector's card of her dad to go with it.  She also made him a greeting card, a superhero candy bar, sewed a picture, and crafted a Tic-Tac-Toe game from rocks.  And then she programmed him an electronic card on Microsoft's MakeCode Arcade.  Her dad was especially impressed and proud of that one.  Talk about a busy kitty!

See what I mean?  He's one lucky dog.

It was a beautiful summer evening so we spent time outside playing games and eating all of the lucky dog's treats. They were quite tasty.

Happy Father's Day to Michael!