12:20:2003 Entry: "Ann : Thoughts on the Pug, and such"
Thoughts on the Pug, and such
Just did a web search on "Dana Parsley." Whew. No one turned up. That's a relief.
Stan and I were very bad parents. Saturday night, we had Hieronymus sleep downstairs so that we could monitor his sounds better. We put Plato to sleep upstairs. Plato started to whimper and bark a little. We thought it was because he didn't have his pug with him. We ignored his pleas for attention all through the night, and believe me, he barked ALL NIGHT LONG (I got no sleep). When Stan came to get him before he went to work in the morning, his bedding was stinky; he evidentally soiled his bedding because he had diarrhea the next day. (The diarrhea was probably stress-induced...he's fine now after not feeding him for 24 hours) At the time we thought he was barking because his pug wasn't there, and he was just being a spoiled brat. We thought that he'd probably pull the same thing last night because Hieronymus is gone, although he was quiet all night. Now I realize that he was trying to tell us, "hey, mom and dad, I had an accident, help me!" and he wasn't being a spoiled baby who can't bear to be alone. Bad parents. I'm relieved, though, that he was able to get through last night alone just fine.
I've been doing massive searches trying to find dog breeders. All I'm doing is getting myself extremely frustrated and exhausted looking at pictures of French Bulldog puppies. They are so damn cute!
It's kind of strange how I've been feeling before Hieronymus's end. Just the other day, I was thinking how well everything was going, and how happy I was that we all were healthy and our pets all got along and everything seemed so perfect and wonderful in our little universe, but that I knew it couldn't last...something had to give. And it did. Monday or Tuesday of last week, I forgot which, I was watching the Westminster Dog Show and they repeated the tale they often tell regarding an Irish Wolfhound:
In the 13th century, LLewelyn, Prince of North Wales, had a palace in Beddgelert. One day he went hunting without Gelert, his faithful hound, who was unaccountably absent. On Llewelyn's return, the truant hound, stained and smeared with blood, joyfully sprang to meet his master. The Prince, alarmed, hastened to find his infant son, and found the bed empty, the bedclothes and floor splattered with blood. The frantic father plunged his sword into the hound's side, believing the hound had killed his beloved son. The Wolfhound's dying call was answered by the child's cry. Llewelyn searched and discovered his son, unharmed. But nearby the child, lay the bodies of several wolves, slain by Gelert. The Prince, his heart filled with remorse and shame, is said never to have smiled again.
I've heard this story many times, but I just couldn't stop crying after I heard it this time. My rational self was telling me it was riduclous to be crying over such an old, oft-repeated tale, but now I know I was crying not over the story, but because of what was in my future, or Hieronymus's future. This has happened to me before, I'm unexplainably sad for no reason whatsoever, and then something happens in the future which explains it. Dammit, I hate being psychic. I want to experience my emotions when it's appropriate to do so, not ahead of time.
I'm now the odd sign in our house, a water sign. Everyone else is an earth sign. All the pets are Virgos now. Weird.
I just realized...we never got a phone book this year. I guess that's what the phone company does once you're not a customer anymore. Not only do you not exist in their eyes, but you're not allowed the courtesy of knowing the current phone numbers of others with landlines in your locale. The neverending revenge of Ameritech...er, excuse me, SBC. Harrrrumph.