One Year

It doesn't seem possible that Wembley has been gone for a year already. I wanted to write her a letter on the anniversary, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I've been working really hard on assembling the scrapbook I have devoted to her. It's full now, but I plan on adding four more pages.

She passed away on January 18th, 2010, at 2:15 p.m. January 18th, 2010 was also the same day my grandfather was put into a nursing home.

On January 18th, 2011, I sat on the floor of our bedroom and hugged Walter tightly, watching the minutes before and after pass on my phone.

Now that this monumental date is over, I feel relieved, oddly similar to the relief I felt after she passed. No more chemo. No more suffering. No more late night two hour drives to the animal hospital. No more worrying about whether or not she was internally bleeding to death or starving from not eating.

Now, it's no longer the year Wembley passed away.

Soon it will be one year since we rescued Walter, and rescued Ava. And Bella the pit bull, who is thriving in the home we found for her (and I get updates on). And one year since I fell in love with the deaf white cat who turned out to be an absolute diva. One year since taking Rhoda out of the horrible cages of Animal Control.

All of these small milestones are because of Wembley, an angel alive and an angel now.

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Wembley Wednesday - Love.

Seven months later. The time of year where we discovered Wembley's cancer is getting closer. Soon, it will be one year since diagnosis. One year since her last Christmas. One year since losing her. I hate all of these things and often wonder if this will ever stop hurting.

Most of the time, I try not to think about her sickness, but instead how much fun we had together. Alan and I had Wembley during several very exciting points in our lives: courtship, getting Reagan, engagement, getting married, and our first home together (the apartment with the terrible cupboards). I especially miss the way she slept on my pillow every night. In these more uplifting thoughts, I can't help but feel baffled about how *lucky* we are to have had such a perfect dog. She was the easiest puppy, well-behaved, kind, beautiful, and full of snuggles day after day. Everyone who met Wembley was in awe of her, giving her a doggie celebrity status that she adored. Wembley was the princess. My princess.

Since she has been gone, several odd things have happened on a regular basis. Any time we shower one of the other dogs with praise, Wembley seems to do something to make sure that we are always thinking about her. One day with Molly we were driving to PetSmart, and I made some kind of remark-I can't remember what it was now, but after I stated it, I told Molly, "Because of this, I'm going to see a senior golden that makes me cry." Sure enough, about thirty minutes later, we saw a senior golden at the store. If Alan makes a remark about Reagan being the best retriever, a golden retriever commercial will pop up on TV shortly after. These aren't one time occasions, either. They are oddly consistent with our actions, and we are both convinced it is Wembley trying to make us feel bad for praising anything but her. She was very much like that, because everyone told her how perfect she was all the time.

And she will always be my perfect angel and the love of my life.

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Wembley Wednesday - Five Months

Dear Wembley,

Friday is June 18th. That means you have been gone for five months now. Any time one of these milestones creeps up, I grow increasingly sad. The regular days are sad too, and even though I am tired of crying, I never want to get over you. I never will, either. There's space for other dogs, and I will love all of them in different ways, but we had something special. My nose isn't a perfect fit with anyone else's nose, and I know there will never be a dog as girly-girl/princess-y as you were. And don't worry, I am getting the hints you drop when I make a statement about how much I love Walter/Quincy/Reagan. The songs, the golden retriever commercials- YES- I know that is you controlling the airwaves. Don't worry, you will never, ever be forgotten.

I love you more than ever, Wembs, and miss you more than that.

Love, Mommy

P.S.- Take care of Cedar. Lorry misses her.

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Wembley Wednesday

I never stop thinking about Wembley. It has been nearly five months since she passed, and contrary to the "time heals all wounds" and "it will get better with time" cliches, it is not getting better. Alan and I talk about Wembley, cry about Wembley, and just plain miss Wembley. It seems everything we see reminds us of her. Sometimes, almost always regretfully, we pull out the Wembley box and see her collars and toys, the cards we were sent after she left us and during her treatment, her cute little cheerleader outfit and her pretty, pink princess shirts. Then there's the ceramic heart with her paw print on it, given to us by our vet on that horrible, horrible day. Her rhinestone collar bearing her name still smells like her. They're all painful reminders of the fact that she was here, and she wasn't "just a dog."

Now, we're still here, wondering how it all happened, still wondering if we did everything right. I can't help but blame myself. What if I read into her dog food sooner? What if I got a blood test when she got her yearly vaccination, and found the cancer earlier? What if we didn't live in an apartment with disgusting water and the constant, lingering scent of cigarettes from the smokers below and next to us?

This is certainly not the way I want to remember Wembley- full of cancer and medication. Most of the time, it isn't how I remember her. Mostly I remember how beautiful she was, how kind and snuggly, and how she was truly my very best friend. Despite all of the horrible things in the world, the kindness of Wembley always gave me a reason to calm down and deal with it.

I saw this quote the other day that is fitting for our loss:

"Dogs possess an indomitable spirit for life that teaches right up to their last day."

If only all of us were so noble.

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Wembley Wednesday

Would Wednesday be devoted to anyone else? Of course not. Every day is Wembley day, if she had any say in it. That's definitely how it was when she was here. This leads me to my topic: fantasy dogs. I was reading a dog forum and this question was posed: "Is/are your current dog(s) your 'fantasy' dogs?" Since most people have a specific breed that they love, I found this an interesting question. Of course, right away I thought of Wembley. She was the perfect dog from puppyhood until her passing. Graceful, kind, beautiful, and obedient. Wembley was an angel, and she knew it too.

Wembley and I had a bond that is difficult to explain. In the past couple years during some major work stresses, all of my anger melted away when I got home and she ran down the stairs to greet me. Not being much of a kisser, sometimes she would be so happy I would actually be rewarded with some smooches. Because they were so rare, they were incredibly special. After a bad day, I loved nothing more than curling up on the couch with trashy television and Wembley by my side- more like in my lap. She loved to cuddle as much as I did.

Anyone who knew Wembley knew how special she was. She was a princess (oh, how I hate using past tense) who loved to be pampered, but not in that "diva" way that is often carried by little dogs, but a Glinda the Good Witch way.

Now back to fantasy dogs-of course Wembley was truly a dream, but so are our other dogs. I read through this thread and found many comments that said "No, my dog sheds too much", or "No, but I love them anyway", or "No, I hate everything about the way my dog looks, but I love his personality." To me, this was incredibly disappointing. I just can't look at their faces (and Alan agrees), and think, "This isn't my fantasy dog." They're just all different and all dream dogs in their own ways. After all, they picked US.

I'm just so happy Wembley picked us first.

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