Happy Birthday pretty girl.

Today is Seven's 14th birthday. I dug up these puppy pictures earlier today and can barely believe how tiny she was. And dear lord she was cute! Sheesh! I ask her all the time "how are you so beautiful?" I pretty much think she's perfect. Now, how we ended up with her...not so perfect.
Tom and I had just moved in together and decided we wanted a dog. In hindsight it may have been a bit early in the relationship to be making such a huge commitment to a living, breathing thing, but it seems to have worked out so I won't dwell on it too much. I suppose I think about these things due to being in rescue now...I see these young couples wanting dogs and I can't help but wonder (and I do usually, rudely, ask) "who is gonna take the dog if you two don't work out?" Hey, my priority is the dog! Anyway, we went to both the city shelter and the local Humane Society. There was an adult dog at the shelter that I wanted but Tom REALLY wanted a puppy. At the HS there was a litter of three adorable puppies. Two brown, one black - they were calling them beagle/heeler mixes (we found out later, much to our shock, they were actually Dingo mixes). When we met them two were adopted. One little brown girl left. The HS employee took her out and we played with her for a bit. We fell hard for her in about two minutes. We couldn't take her home that day because she had to be spayed. So we came back to visit the next day and the next, bonding more and more each time. Then came the day we got to pick her up. I had to work so Tom was gleefully up for the job!

I remember being at work with time crawling by like ants with a full belly. It was late in the evening. Tom was going by the HS on his way home from work and was supposed to call me when he left with her. He did. And here's what he said. "I think they gave me the wrong dog." Me, "What do you mean?" Tom, "I think they gave me the wrong dog." Me, "What do you mean?" Tom, "I don't know, but I think they gave me the other puppy." Me, "Well did you tell them? What did they say?" Tom, "No, the other puppies have already been picked up." Me, "I'm calling them." So I call the HS. Apparently the ENTIRE time we had been interacting with the WRONG puppy. The already adopted puppy. Something about the id numbers being transposed in the computer. I don't know. But their solution was "Well, you can bring her back." But we knew we were not going to get the puppy we'd fallen in love with, she was gone, left the building, adios! So, time to meet our new dog for the first time.
Of course we joke, Seven was an accident. She is the complete and total boss. She would sooner have you poke her eye out than cuddle with you. She barks INCESSANTLY! Her sister is probably a calm, quite, snuggler. And I would not switch them for a bajillion dollars.

My beautiful girl. Knock-on-wood, she might be 14 but she acts like an ornery two year old. She bounces like a gazelle at dinner time, announces every activity in the front yard whether its an actual visitor or a leaf falling from the tree. She bosses all our other dogs, be it one of the chihuahuas or the pit bull, all 37 pounds of her. She takes her sweet time accepting new people who stop by and she pretends to detest just about every other dog in the house. Everything is on her terms. But despite all of that we think she is perfect. She is the princess. This is her castle and she is kind enough to let us live here and honestly, we wouldn't change a thing. Okay, maybe the barking, I'd cut the barking down by about half.

Happy Birthday baby girl. Love you.

the last cuddle.

Sweet little Della Street went on a home visit last night. Her hopeful new mom asked me last night, "are you gonna be sad." and I said, rather quickly in hindsight, "No." She seemed a little surprised and I felt bad, like it came across that I don't care about Della or love her...but it's not that at all. After fostering for nearly 12 years it is less sad. In the beginning I was always a basket case when the dogs left, I literally mourned my loss. But now if you find a good home that you know will love that dog - it's just all happiness! Plus one going out means I can go save another one. So it's not that I've become this hardened wretch, I've just evolved my thinking. Does that make me sound mature? Because I will never claim maturity. Ever.

my sweet boy.

I knew the day would come when I would have to write this post. There were even times when I would think about what I would say. But then I would put it out of my head because it was far to dreadful to imagine. But now I'm here. And I can't put it out of my head because now, now it's real. I'm not sure how to write the things I need to say. I can barely see the key board because of the tears. I have no idea how to adequately put into words how amazing, how precious, how loved, how goofy, how regal, how adored, how everything Preacher was and is to Tom and I. The thought of life without him is staggeringly painful. And yet we've made it now 11 days.

We lost Preacher early on Thursday September 22nd. It was fairly sudden. Tom and I were with him, just the two of us. He took the hard decision out of our hands...something I will be forever grateful for and in awe of. As difficult as it was, and it was excruciating, I was able to hold my baby and feel the last beat of his heart.

I've had a hard time making sense of everything. I want to be angry, but how can I be? I was able to share his life with him. We were given and incredible amount of time with him. I'm trying to make sense of everything. Trying to understand how he was just here... I'm trying to hold on to memories, think about the good things, but I'm not quite there yet. I'm having a hard time finding any relief in much of anything just yet. But I know that I need to find a way to be happy. I need to find a way to feel normal again, just like we did with every milestone we passed through Preacher's life with us.
This was from the day we brought Preacher home. I just crack up looking back at these photos! I forget how much pink he had on his nose when he was young. And over the years we marveled at how he never seemed to age...but looking back at these early pictures, his gray was so much darker. I guess you just never notice a white dog going white. To me he just looked more regal the older he got.

These were also from that first day. I wrote about that day in a recent post...when we first loaded into the car Seven wanted nothing to do with him. But by the end of the day I think she was more attached to him than we were.
It took us a little longer to bond with him. I remember the first day at home with him. He was laying on the couch and I sat down next to him and he growled at me. I hopped up and went to tell Tom. He sat down next to him and got growled at too. We were kind of freaking out. We didn't want to return him but we also didn't want an aggressive dog. After a little while we figured out that he just was not a snugly boy. There was no aggression behind the growl, it was just his way of saying "Hey, if you are gonna sit here then you might as well pet me, if not then scoot over and give me some space!" Tom figured out quickly that our new addition meant he was now relegated to the floor! Up until the day before we lost him I would use that as a way to gauge how he was feeling - if he growled at me it meant he was feeling good enough to give me attitude, no growling meant he didn't feel good.
I love this photo of he and Berklie. Berklie adored, absolutely adored Preacher. Back when Preacher could still jump up on our bed that is where he would stay when we were away from the house. And Berk would lay with him, groom him, rub back and forth under his chin. This 130 pound dog and this 12 pound cat were the best of friends. When Preacher could no longer jump on the bed Berklie followed him out to the living room to sit with him on the couch. Every night Tom, Preacher, and Berklie would share the entire couch while I was over in a chair with at least six other dogs!
Our first Christmas. I had no intention of being in this photo but Preacher had no intention of sitting with Santa alone!
The Mighty Texas Dog Walk aka the time when Preacher unloaded what looked like 20 cans of pumpkin before we ever made it out of the gate! Poor Tom was having to set give-away dog bowls around Preachers nervous diarrhea like safety cones.


I love this photo because it marked the return of his apatite after beginning chemo. It was a mighty exciting day around our house!
He was not a cuddler, so these moments were precious. It didn't matter if the blood flow to half my body stopped, I would not move until he was ready. We took every bit of snuggle time that we could get.

I think there are three reasons that I have made it through the last 11 days.
one. We have THE best family and friends in the entire world. They have all treated this with the gravity that it is for Tom and I. We've received flowers. People have cooked for us. Lots of sweet cards. Texts every single day to see how my day is. Listening to me cry and crying with me. Sitting with me. Donations to Blue Dog. And more.
two. As much as I have wanted to get in bed and not see the light of day for a good long time I know that that would be no way to honor my boy. I need to live my life with all the joy that he brought to me for 12 years three months and 16 days.
three. I have never believed in Heaven as much as I do now. I cannot believe that I will never see my baby again. I just can't.

There are so many of you who have read my blog over the years. I don't kid myself. I know that Preacher was why. And I thank you for every time you read about him and wished him well. For every comment you made. There was something about this dog. People lucky enough to meet him would want to come back to get their "Preacher fix" - you know who you are! People who knew him vicariously through Tom and I felt like they knew him and were rooting for him. He just had a way of drawing people to him. I have to pinch myself sometimes because I was lucky enough to be his mom.
Preacher,
I love you and I miss you more than I ever knew was possible. I still scoop your food out in the morning and walk into the kitchen to get your meds. I'm terrified of forgetting the way you smell, the way you feel, the way you sound... Someone I met while dealing with your cancer told me that one day I would be able to feel you by my side again. I am dreaming of that day. I got your name tattooed on my wrist the other day. It gives me something to rub when what I want is to pet you. I'm trying to figure out my feelings from one minute to the next but the bottom line is I miss you terribly. You made it too easy to love you. You filled up our lives so much that now there is a Preacher shaped hole in our world. Thank you for letting me be your mom. Thank you for fighting so hard and giving us these last two extra years. Thank you for making it easy on us in the end. Thank you for being the bravest boy in the whole world. I love you Big Man.
love,
your mom

wearing out my well wishes welcome

I hate to say it, but I have to hit you up for more good thoughts and well wishes please. Our little piggy, Pasqual, is having surgery today to remove a tumor. It's the type of tumor that is usually benign but can become malignant. So we have all of our fingers and toes crossed that it is going to turn out to be benign.

Pasqual started out as a foster at our house (as so many of them did). He was the first Pit Bull to be fostered by anyone in Blue Dog. And even though it was a bunch of dog people there were still some skeptics on the whole Pit Bull thing. But Pasqually quickly won them all over with his sweet nature, incessant kisses, and constant smile. Now several of our fosters have adopted Pit Bulls of their own and our group has rescued and adopted out countless pits over the years.

At a little over 10 years old Pasqual is a poster child and ambassador for his breed. And we are very lucky to have him in our lives. So, fingers crossed this is just a little snip snip and we're all done!

GREAT gift for a GREAT cause

Gift idea #2: Some of the best gifts are gifts that give back. That is absolutely the case with this calender. Everyone needs a calender - I don't care if you keep all of your info in your phone, you still need to look up at a calender from time to time. This one features Texas Musicians and their dogs and 100% of the proceeds go straight to the dogs. Blue Dog Rescue is a 501c3 non-profit with no paid employees, we are 100% run by volunteers who donate their time, energy, and love because they don't think dogs should be killed just because there is no space for them. This calender is one of our biggest fundraisers of the year and helps us keep our heads above water through out the year.

Another cool option is to "Sponsor a Blue Dog". Blue Dog will send a holiday card to anyone you like and let them know that a donation has been made in their name for the holidays. It's a fun way to help an individual dog that has caught your eye and tugged at your heart.

It's nap time at the Gibson house!

I think I need a 24 hour nap. When I take long naps Tom says "that's not a nap, that's called sleep." Whatever. I need it either way, whatever you call it. It has been a whirlwind of activity around here since we got back from New York. Three trips to the airport, two friends in town, a Blue Dog event, a film screening, brunch at the parents, some friends dropping in for some impromptu Metalsgirl shopping, all in a matter of three days. I'm pooped.

So helpful

Last month when we were at the beach my friend Casey taught me how to knit. Big mistake. I am totally addicted now. It's such a relaxing thing to do after working all day. And I am getting a good jump on Christmas gifts. Apparently Clishy wanted to get in on the action by holding the yarn for me. Never let it be said that my dogs are not helpful!

An even dozen.

I was looking at the scrolling photos of my dogs the other day - the ones here on my blog, the little thing-a-ma-bob off to the right that scrolls through various photos - and I was noticing how many of the pictures are of them in costumes or clothes. I immediately felt the need to tell everyone that we are NOT those people! We don't typically dress the dogs up. But I suppose on the rare occasions when we do we feel the need to capture it on film! Anyway, if made ME feel the need to show you how truly dignified my dogs REALLY are, sans clothing.

When Tom and I helped co-found Blue Dog Rescue almost 10 years ago we had two dogs. Seven and Preacher. A very reasonable number of dogs. But over the years of fostering some just seemed to stay. We certainly never meant to have 12 dogs. But that's where we're at. And we adore each and every one of them. We have probably fostered 200+ dogs over the years so I like to tell people that keeping 10 out of 200 is not so bad!

Anyway, here they are, in order of arrival, the loves of our lives:

Seven.

We adopted Seven from the local Humane Society in 1998. She is the absolute love of our life. She's the Princess and knows it!

Preacher.
The Big Man. If you've read my blog before then you've heard all about him over the past month. He is a sweet, gentle soul who loves every single person he ever meets.

Ozilinne.

Ozo. Our very first foster and maybe the big glaring sign that we shouldn't foster because we'd want to keep them all. But thank goodness we didn't pay attention to the sign. Ozo has the happy-go-lucky of his Golden Retriever part and the independence of his Chow part. EVERYONE loves Ozo.

Clarence.

This little man is the love of MY life. He has soooo much personality rolled up into his little chihuahua/dachshund body. He's a little gangsta and considers himself The King. I have his paw print tattooed on my foot so that he walks with me wherever I go.

Pasqual.

The Notorious P.I.G. When we were fostering him and took him to adoption days kids would tell their parents that we had a pig for adoption! Pasqual was the first pit bull in Blue Dog Rescue and he won over everyone he met. He is the Pit Bull poster child!

Vincent.

My baby. We got Vincent and his four littermates when they were two weeks old. Their mom had been hit by a car. Tom and I brought them home and bottle fed them. We almost lost Vincent one night when he went into hypoglycemic shock. I slept with him on my chest all night. Since that point he has been my dog through and through. He is my guardian and protector. Where I go, he goes.

Clishy Marie Shew.

Probably the most energetic dog in our house. She wants to know what is going on at all times! And the best hugger in all the world!

Veruca Jane Shew.

While her sister is the hugger she is the kisser. And she prefers your nose if that's okay with you. Oh, and a beer if you'll share that too!

Monkey Shew.
Sweetest little boy ever - all he wants is a little attention of his own. In this pack you do have to kind of assert yourself to get attention - and he's just not that assertive. So we try to go the extra mile to give him the love and belly rubs he deserves.

The Business Man.

Oh, Ferdabidnee. The dog is even sillier than he looks. We joke that he should really be a cartoon character. His tongue sticks out and he's cross-eyed. He's not particularly nice to strangers and he has a liver shunt. He's a little train wreck but he brings laughter into our lives every single day. I wouldn't trade him for anything!

Horatio.

Our little chug. Another foster who came and just refused to leave. And while I didn't want 11 dogs I wanted life without Horatio even less. Every night it is his job to announce Bed Time. And he does so my garbling bizarre noises and dragging his belly on the floor. And when he does it they all know - "It's bed time!"

Jessica Beatrice.
She was going to be a "quick" adoption. She was NOT supposed to stay. But she wormed her way into Tom's heart by being pitiful and pathetic and only loving him. So there it was. She became number 12!

So that's us in a nut shell. It is crazy but it works. And what am I most proud of? That people come to my house and say "Wow, it doesn't smell like dogs!"