*note: This entry was drafted at the end of July. Caleb has given me permission to share, as today he said his final goodbye to sweet, funny, scruffy Mama. 8.20.20
Mama was a birthday gift for my youngest son the year he turned 10. Some boys just need a dog, and that was true for my boy. Caleb's dad and I spent a fair amount of time searching for the right dog for our family, and all through the research process, I insisted we would get a specific type of dog--something small, with light-colored fur, that didn't shed. I didn't want a big clunky dog in the house with dark hair that would show on the furniture if it ever happened to shed a little.
We have joked for years that it must have been opposite day when we found Mama. She was a big girl, with tons of dark fur that was falling out--tumbleweeds of dog hair were everywhere. We went to visit her at her foster home, and as I stood in the kitchen, Mama approached, put her enormous paws up on my shoulders like she wanted to hug me, and it was love at first sight.
Mama was ours and our house would never be the same.
Mama had been rescued from a farm in Wisconsin. She was just 2 years old, and had already had 3 litters of puppies. She was mellow and quiet, and after her first big haircut, we discovered her back was covered in scars. A phone call to her rescue person told us that this was typical of dogs that are used as bait in dog fight rings. Poor Mama had lived a pretty rough life, and we were happy to give her a safe place to call home. Mama quickly got comfortable enough to explore. Over the years, as Mama developed a reputation for being a little too curious and occasionally freaking out, my nephew referred to the stories as Mama Drama, and the name stuck.
The first time we left her home alone, Mama reached her big paws up onto the kitchen counter and pulled down a bunch of bananas. She sampled each one, and must have not liked what she tasted, because when we got home, there were partially chewed bananas--all of them-- squished into the carpet throughout the upper level of our house.
The first time the kids stayed home alone with Mama, they called us and said, "Come home quick, Mama threw up!" We raced home to find that Mama was feeling great--she had chewed up a drink coaster that was made of cork and spit it out all over the carpet. No dog puke--just exploring!
Mama couldn't be trusted to stay in the yard. Every now and then she'd break away from her running line and go on a little neighborhood field trip. We'd stand on the deck, calling her name, or we'd go on a search in the car, and every time she'd come home covered in filth, in desperate need of a bath, and grinning from ear to ear. She'd snore extra loud on the nights after a little escape.
Mama had entertaining eating habits. She somehow always knew exactly when it was time to feed her, and she'd come find us. She'd clack her teeth together relentlessly, until somebody put some food in her dish. She'd snarf down the entire dish of food without stopping, and then she'd go throw herself down on the floor to rest. By the time she was full-grown, the thump of her body hitting the floor could be heard in every room of the house. Mama once enjoyed an entire jelly roll, just out of the oven, stolen from the spot where it cooled. She also ate a care package, intended for our oldest son who had gone away to college. Who knew sticky notes and pencils tasted so good? Fortunately, there were peppermints in the care package too-Mama's breath was minty fresh!
Mama would sometimes get rattled when she was home alone. We had tried using a crate, but she broke her way out every time. We tried using a baby gate to keep her confined to one room, but that girl could jump. We finally gave up and just gave her the house. She definitely left her mark. One time she accidentally shut herself into the master bedroom, and she chewed and clawed her way out. The door was destroyed, but she was free! Another day, I came home from work to find Mama with sheetrock dust stuck to her nose. In some sort of frenzy while home alone, she had chewed the walls of our sunroom down to the studs. She even managed to pull down the woodwork, and I think if the owners who now live in that house look closely, they'll see doggy toothmarks still embedded in the doorknob.
Mama was a fan of a good belly rub. She loved to stretch out on her back and reach up with her paws to tap whoever was sitting nearby, in an effort to get a little tummy scratch. Once you started, she wouldn't let you stop. She'd scoot closer and tap harder, and the belly rub wasn't over until she said so. Every guest who ever came over couldn't sit comfortably until Mama got her tummy rubbed.
Yesterday I sat on a bench with my ex and we remembered the Mama drama. We talked about our kids, our jobs, our new relationships, how we are happy for each other, and how our marriage, even though it ended, was not a mistake, and how this new chapter in our lives is very, very good.
That last part of the conversation might not have happened without our sweet and quirky Mama at the park, and I'm grateful that she gave us that gift. We're trying to decide how we'll know when it's time to let her go--to help her go. Her body is failing her, but she's not complaining. In spite of her efforts to go for a daily walk, to sniff all the smells in the world that need sniffing, and to take all the best naps after eating all the best snacks, a bleeding tumor in her mouth and her legs constantly going out from under her are making the decisions for her. We have some ideas in place, and so does her boy who is now all grown up and full of Mama memories of his own. I know I won't see her again before she goes. I missed her terribly when I moved away and left her with my ex-husband, and I will miss her once she's gone from this world too. I'm so glad it was opposite day the day I met my cute little light haired dog that doesn't shed.
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