I sure do love this little dog.
I love him so much that I wonder if I’m making decisions based on how much I love him instead of what’s best for him.
Nigel is going through another spell of back issues. He was in grave pain last week, but with the aid of a lot of medicine again, he seems to be a good bit better. He still is only a shadow of the dog he once was, but he still loves to be loved.
He drags his back legs now, and he’ll whimper if we lift him to go outside to potty, but he magically finds the strength to scamper across the room if the baby cries so he can frantically bark at her.
For example, when I was trying to get a cute photo of Drew in her little sun bonnet, she had a total meltdown.
There were tears, screams, cries, and her new word that she has figured out receives immediate attention, “Owwwwwww”. I know 7-week-old babies can’t talk yet, but I seriously hear her saying “Ow” and it breaks my heart.
Then I hear the clickity-clack of a little weenie dog’s nails across the hardwood floor as he makes an effort to run to her salvation. Barking the whole way of course. Increasing the intensity of the meltdown situation… And making me love him all the more.
So, what’s best for him? We’ve decided to love him until he just can’t tolerate our love anymore. When he stops giving me kisses every time I put my face up to his, I’ll know it’s time. When he won’t squeak his toy for me, I’ll consider that a sign. Or when he doesn’t race to my baby girl’s rescue, then I’ll assume he’s ready for his next chapter in doggy heaven.
There will be two babies in this house. The furry kind and the human kind.
And when I show you sweet, serene photos like this – You can assume there was a weenie dog barking in the background and a meltdown somewhere along the way…