In life, they say, you take the good with the bad. So too with us this week. Later this evening, we hope, a new baby will come into the world, named after her grandmothers, including Mom, who is no longer with us. When Mom passed away two years ago, she left behind the family dog, BJ, who had been her daily companion since Dad, Lydia, and I bought him as a birthday gift (she had always wanted a toy poodle.) In fact he was named after Mom when nobody had a better idea for a name, "because he belongs to Barbara Jean." Years later, after she died, he was a bit lonely for a brief time. Previously he was always somewhat asocial and maladjusted (spoilt and disobedient really), but in subsequent months he loved people contact -- riding on passengers' laps on car rides, going on little trips in San Jose, being cuddled and carried like never before. He had never been a lapdog for Mom! He was still ornery and bit me often, especially during grooming, which I had to do myself after he got hurt at the groomer's. His fault or theirs I was never sure. I just took more care of him. He was my friend and little brother, the one I had to get up early for, to feed, to medicate, or to let out for pee. Some nights I was up most of the night back and forth to bed. Or I would try to sleep from the early hours of the morning on the couch with him. He caught more of my tears in fall 2007 than anyone. Which is fitting because he's fluffy like a ball of cotton. When my wife and I married she moved into my place, Dad moved out, but BJ stayed. And though Mari resists my comparisons of pet ownership, care, and feeding to parenthood, I think now she appreciates the parallels. BJ has given her a lot of practice over the last year. And me too - now we were coordinating a household with vet visits and potty breaks after work... Yesterday Dad noticed that BJ's eye had changed. Where it was once cloudy inside with a cataract, some time in the previous day it had fogged over and there was a big red spot. The only thing we can think of is that he bumped into something and hurt it. Where he could previously see light and doorways, now he is blind. Last week he stood around and stared, looking confused. Now he doesn't get off his bed unless carried. I am reminded of Mom's struggles to save her vision, and her years with arthritis pain, and other maladies she experienced. How she didn't want to suffer. How she hoped to pass in her sleep. And did. BJ wakes up wailing some mornings with his arthritis pain. He has not eaten much in the past couple days. And he has had mutiple accidents in the house. He started up a couple stairs looking for Dad earlier today, according to Dad. I can only be in one place, at one time, so I know I am in the right place. But I wish I could also be with BJ. We will say goodbye to him, as a family, after Mari comes home with baby Barbara. And then we will hug him and kiss him, and thank him. And send him to be with Mom, so he can tug on her robe again, the little "son of a bitch," her moofie-doofie. | 
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leyba's journal
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