It’s been almost a year, and every minute that brings me closer to that anniversary is a minute filled with shards of glass in my heart. I knew, from the moment I heard that horrible word, “hemangiosarcoma,” that my life would never be the same, that sadness would creep into the best moments, and darkness would be more often my companion than light. I thought I knew how much it would hurt. I was wrong. It hurts as much today as it did a year ago.
And then there’s the Little One. He’s ruled the house since the day he came home. And as I’ve often preached to others, and failed to preach to myself, what is cute at 10 lbs is not so cute at 70 lbs. I have bruises on top of bruises, and if I were to go to the ER tonight, Bear would surely be accused of abuse.
After a second training class, which consisted of yet another hour of me wrestling with Maverick to get him to stay on his mat, focus on me, stop trying to get to the other dogs, please just freakin look at me! I decided that enough is enough. Tough love commenced on Tuesday. Pray for me, he’s too damned cute and too damned smart and it’s just way too easy to give in.
What keeps me strong is knowing that he can be as great a dog as Max, if I can manage to bring it out of him. It would be a disservice to both of them if I don’t.