Prim and proper Daisy
**Warning, if you're not an animal lover, turn back now!!**
Not sure if I told the blogosphere, but last month my mom lost her dachshund, Noodle. She'd had him for eighteen years, so it was a tough loss. With that in mind, when Hannah and I started planning the Romance Road Trip, our first concern was who's going to watch Daisy? Yes, the boys will be home, but only sort of. Hubby works all day and I don't even want to know what Not-so-Little Terry does all night!! Russell has moved on to that great land called TU Apartmentville, so that left Daisy alone and crying for the two weeks Hannah and planned to be gone.
Knowing my mom was hurting and Daisy loves nothing more than to be loved and adored 24/7, I figured who better to watch her than her great-grandma? Mom agreed. The day before leaving for the East Coast, we met up at the BK Lounge halfway down the turnpike and made the exchange.
The next day, we were somewhere in Illinois when I got the call from Mom that Daisy had fleas and needed a haircut and her nails trimmed, but Mom was on it. That dog was primped, pampered and plucked within an inch of her life, but came out of the operation looking more like a prim and proper Yorkie than the hairy little beast we all love. She's still adorable, but in a different way.
As the days went by, each time I called Mom for a report, I heard more about how much Daisy loves barking at golfers and refuses to eat hamburger, but she LOVES salmon!!! Um, so do I!!! Mom and Dad have a raised bed, so Mom slept in the guest room to make sure Daisy didn't fall. The more cute stories I heard, the more my stomach churned. When we used to leave the twins with my parents when they were babies I didn't hear this much cooing!!
Yesterday was the big day for us to meet back up at the BK Lounge to take Daisy home. When we arrived, Mom cried to give her up. I don't mean a sniffle, but cried. My heart ached. Had it been up to me, I would've given Mom the dog.
Don't get me wrong, I love this dog like crazy, but I also have two other dogs, two cats, my own kids, drop-in kids, a high maintenance Hubby and wonderful friends I don't see near enough of. My heart is full enough to share. Trouble is, Daisy isn't my dog, but Hannah's. And from the second we walked in the door from our trip, all Hannah has wanted to know was when we were picking up Daisy?
I now feel lower than low to have even asked my mom to watch the dog. Never in a million years did I see this coming. I offered to buy Mom a puppy, but she sort-of laughed and said she didn't want a puppy, she wanted Daisy.
When I was a kid, all I wanted was to be grown-up. Everything would be perfect if only I were sixteen and then eighteen. Twenty-one. Now that I'm forty, I sometimes feel as if decisions are hurtling at me like hailstones. And now, I'm the one crying. And Daisy doesn't really seem herself. And I wonder how much time I have left with my parents and was this one of those decisions I'll later look back on thinking, if only I'd done something differently?
To clarify, for me this issue isn't just about a dog, but my responsibilty as a daughter to my mother.
My family is terribly small. Mom and Dad, Grandpa Alisch and a couple uncles and distant cousins--all of whom live in different states. Dad has this uncanny knack for making friends wherever he goes. He's thrilled wiling away days tinkering on his boat or Harley. Mom reads, watches Y & R, and gets her hair and nails done. I constantly worry if she's lonely. When she had Daisy, something about her sparkled. Daisy seemed to give her purpose. All of which lessened my worries over living two hours away.
One tiny Yorkie. Seems like such a small thing for me to have such an awful stomachache over, yet here it is, and I feel like a villain for even suggesting Mom watch the dog.