Three hundred fifty. Three hundred and fifty days since Tom died. It feels like yesterday but almost an entire year has gone by. A year ago he was in the hospital with pulmonary embolisms. It was his last hospitalization. It was an agonizing time. But interestingly, whenever I would walk into his hospital room, a calmness would come over me. It felt as if spirit infused his room, and looking back I believe that indeed that was the case, I just didn't realize it at the time.
I've worked hard to move through this grieving process. I have come a very long way but I have a very very long way to go. I'm tired of this. I had a great respite over the holidays but I still I am tired. I am struggling with things that I was struggling with months ago. I made progress but I feel like I am going backwards. I guess that is just the way it goes. I have to remember "baby steps" but right now I feel like I'm wearing concrete boots. My body is processing something--I know because my memory is not good and my body is really tired. It is a pattern I've come to know this last year.
But there is one thing that I haven't lost, and that is hope. Hope for a happy future. Hope for a time when I don't feel so terribly weighted down. Last evening I met my spousal loss bereavement group for our monthly dinner. It is amazing that this group of people has continued to come together over the last 10 months and support each other through this. As we sat around the dinner table talking about dating (one member has jumped back in that pool, the rest of us are not there) one member remarked that we should look how far we have come. Ten months ago we couldn't even consider this conversation. I look forward to continuing to share my process with these very special people, none of whom I would have ever met had I not become a widow. And we have scheduled our February get together on Valentines Day. It is an absolutely brilliant idea. I can not think of a better way to spend it!
So there is growth, and healing over the last three hundred and fifty days, but most of it feels invisible to me. It is only in hindsight that one can truly see and measure the changes. I know that the next few weeks will be really difficult. I cannot force myself to do the things that I know I need to do and it frustrates me. Baby steps, again.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Saturday, January 9, 2016
Survival and Endurance
The holidays are behind us, thank goodness. Surprisingly I had a very good holiday. I felt as if I was in a safe haven with my family and my pup, who had her first cross-country road trip. I shared many of Tom's things with my family and it was gratifying to see the love and gratitude (and sometimes shock) on their faces as they opened their gifts. My oldest nephew is a fan of Led Zeppelin and I gave him Tom's vintage vinyl, Led Zeppelin 1. My sister-in-law asked him what his favorite LZ song was and he started to sing Black Dog. The whole family joined in, bopping their heads (think Wayne's World) and for a moment it seemed to me that a wormhole opened and Tom was right there, like he was watching through my eyes. It was the coolest thing. We had done something similar many years ago at the Thanksgiving table with Bohemian Rhapsody. I felt so connected. It was magical in it own way. I sometimes forget that others are missing Tom too, perhaps not as intensely as I am, but missing him. My tribe is not the same since he has been gone, but his imprint remains with the family unit. I spent NYE with friends in Arizona. It was the right thing place to be and felt good. The two weeks away felt like a wonderful respite from the daily heaviness of mourning. It was good to come home, to the place where we shared our lives together. His presence is here, as is the love. People who have come into our home remark on it. But I really feel his physical absence. So now I am back to the reality of life.
Yesterday I met with an attorney to take care of my estate planning, something that I really haven't wanted to face. I am also finishing up the last of the legal matters regarding his estate, something that I have been putting off. I am ready. We are rapidly approaching the one year anniversary of his passing at the end of the month and I am feeling the need to wrap things up, finish the legal things and finally clean out his closet. For some reason, the one year anniversary feels like a watershed milestone to me. I know I will not be all better (which is what I thought would happen in the early days of my bereavement). I have been told the second year is harder than the first, but in a different way. I was hoping that was not the case, but I believe it will be. But, to me, the first year was about mourning his loss (which I will continue to do, perhaps for the rest of my life) and the second year is about beginning to rebuild my life. It will not happen magically. I've felt as if I having been living in survival mode, just enduring life and not living it. At some point I hope to go from just enduring life to actively embracing it and enjoying it. I know that is what Tom would want for me. It is only in hindsight that I can begin to realize the depth of pain and loss and to see how far I've come. But I have so very far to go. It will come. In time. I will continue on this healing journey. It is very very hard work.
Yesterday I met with an attorney to take care of my estate planning, something that I really haven't wanted to face. I am also finishing up the last of the legal matters regarding his estate, something that I have been putting off. I am ready. We are rapidly approaching the one year anniversary of his passing at the end of the month and I am feeling the need to wrap things up, finish the legal things and finally clean out his closet. For some reason, the one year anniversary feels like a watershed milestone to me. I know I will not be all better (which is what I thought would happen in the early days of my bereavement). I have been told the second year is harder than the first, but in a different way. I was hoping that was not the case, but I believe it will be. But, to me, the first year was about mourning his loss (which I will continue to do, perhaps for the rest of my life) and the second year is about beginning to rebuild my life. It will not happen magically. I've felt as if I having been living in survival mode, just enduring life and not living it. At some point I hope to go from just enduring life to actively embracing it and enjoying it. I know that is what Tom would want for me. It is only in hindsight that I can begin to realize the depth of pain and loss and to see how far I've come. But I have so very far to go. It will come. In time. I will continue on this healing journey. It is very very hard work.
Sunday, December 6, 2015
Music--The Songs of Life, and Death, and Grieving
Tom was a musician. Music was very important to him and we spent a lot of time together because of his music, particularly during gigs. I've found that since he's been gone, he speaks to me through music. A RuMoRs' song (or three in a row) on the radio--I spend a lot of time in the car listening to music, the one song that he sang with the band that he would dedicate to me (Color My World, by Chicago). I keep the car well stocked with tissue. Recently I drove his car to my acupuncture appointment. On the way home I decided to turn on the radio. It had been a while since I had driven his car with the radio on (at least three weeks). The station that I last had on seems to have changed programming and a song I had never heard was playing. I was immediately drawn in by the melody and then, quickly, the lyrics. The song is "Like I'm Gonna Lose You" by Meghan Trainer with John Legend. As soon as I arrived home I googled the lyrics and just knew that this was a very special song. As I read them, I could so deeply relate to our relationship and it made me very grateful.
So I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you
I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbye
Wherever we're standing
I won't take you for granted
'Cause we'll never know when, when we'll run out of time
The last months of Tom's life, our marriage, which was already rock solid, deepened in a way that I never imagined. Going through a life and death health crisis can drive people apart or closer together. We fell more deeply in love, were more deeply committed to each other and were grateful for every second together. As our friend Dave said at Tom's memorial, we had more than a marriage, it was like a blood pact. I remember very distinctly, as we continued to receive bad news about his cancer, as Tom lamented that he couldn't seem to catch a break, his oncologist saying to us "But you have each other." That we did. We were in lock-step. We were a team. His job was to fight the cancer, my job was to fight for him, including fighting his medical team when necessary. I have no regrets about how we spent his last months. I know that we did everything that we could, that we loved deeper, held each other longer, laughed harder and drew on each other's strength. He knew that I had his back, that he was the most important thing in my life, and I knew that he was fighting with everything that he had to live his life to fullest for every moment that he had. There were several precious moments during those months. Moments of tenderness, moments of fear, moments desperation, moments of joy, moments of frustration, moments of humor (lots of those), but mostly moments of love.
We never talked about him dying. It hovered in the background, just outside of the reality. The thought unspoken. The fear unwhispered. I felt like I was walking a tightrope, not saying what should be said. I believed then, and believe now, that he desperately needed me to keep believing. And I did. To quote another song, this one by Journey,
Don't stop believin'
Hold on to that feelin'
I hold on. And on. And on and on and on and on.
So I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you
I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbye
Wherever we're standing
I won't take you for granted
'Cause we'll never know when, when we'll run out of time
The last months of Tom's life, our marriage, which was already rock solid, deepened in a way that I never imagined. Going through a life and death health crisis can drive people apart or closer together. We fell more deeply in love, were more deeply committed to each other and were grateful for every second together. As our friend Dave said at Tom's memorial, we had more than a marriage, it was like a blood pact. I remember very distinctly, as we continued to receive bad news about his cancer, as Tom lamented that he couldn't seem to catch a break, his oncologist saying to us "But you have each other." That we did. We were in lock-step. We were a team. His job was to fight the cancer, my job was to fight for him, including fighting his medical team when necessary. I have no regrets about how we spent his last months. I know that we did everything that we could, that we loved deeper, held each other longer, laughed harder and drew on each other's strength. He knew that I had his back, that he was the most important thing in my life, and I knew that he was fighting with everything that he had to live his life to fullest for every moment that he had. There were several precious moments during those months. Moments of tenderness, moments of fear, moments desperation, moments of joy, moments of frustration, moments of humor (lots of those), but mostly moments of love.
We never talked about him dying. It hovered in the background, just outside of the reality. The thought unspoken. The fear unwhispered. I felt like I was walking a tightrope, not saying what should be said. I believed then, and believe now, that he desperately needed me to keep believing. And I did. To quote another song, this one by Journey,
Don't stop believin'
Hold on to that feelin'
I hold on. And on. And on and on and on and on.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
The Work of Grieving
My meditation for today was about patience.
"I become painfully aware that no one is paying me for all the hours I need to stare into space after a loss." ---Mary Hayes-Grieco
"We become anxious at all the time wasted grieving, curled up on the couch with a balled-up handkerchief, staring off into space, reliving the details of his death over and over again.
There are so many other things we should be doing! Yet in truth this is exactly what we must do right now in order to heal and get on with the business of life. The laundry may pile up and social and work appointments may be put on hold until we are in a position to be productive.
This is the "work" of mourning, and while there is no tangible compensation, the actual payment is considerable. If we give ourselves all the time we need, we come out on the other side, rested and ready to resume our worldly responsibilities. Until then we need to keep pressure to an absolute minimum and remember to be easy on ourselves."
excerpt from "Living with Loss" by Ellen Sue Stern
At the beginning, after Tom died, there was little I could do but stare into space. I couldn't keep a cogent thought in my head for more than 3 seconds. It has progressively gotten better over the months. And then last week I felt like I was going backwards. I was crying every day. It seems that in the car, on my way to a meeting, a song would hit the radio which was one of several on RuMoRs playlist. One day, the song "Color My World" by Chicago came on. That was the only song that Tom actually sang with the band and he would always dedicate it to me. Suddenly the white lines on the road became very blurry. A week before I decided that I would mix it up a bit and listen to a country station (and I NEVER listen to country). The third song in was by Phil Vasser, the last lines of the chorus "An' I'm gonna wrap my arms around you, An' rock you all through the night, An' I'm gonna love you, Like it's the last day of my life". It a miracle that I actually get to where I am going in one piece.
This past week-end I decided it was time to deal with Tom's drums, selling his vintage Ludwig kit. In order to do that I needed to photograph it. So out into the garage I went. I was doing OK until I open his gear bag. The smell of gear is very distinctive. The moment I opened it the memories came out of my eyes and ran down my cheeks. For a loooong time. Oh those memories--hauling gear, setting up gear, tearing down gear, watching Tom play, remembering how much he LOVED to play.
And then yesterday. What happened to yesterday? It was the nine month anniversary of his death. I had been warned that people tend to take a little dip around the nine month mark. I was not prepared. I woke up feeling ill--cold and achey. I couldn't focus on anything. And I struggled all morning trying to convince myself to work. I finally realized that it was a useless struggle and gave in to what my body, mind and spirit really needed. Respite. So I put on one of Tom's sweatshirts, climbed into bed and cuddled with the dog. I quickly fell into a lovely nap and felt slightly better when I woke up. By the time this morning rolled around I felt better and ready to get back to this new life. Quite frankly I was shocked that it hit as hard as it did. I've had other days when I hit the wall and could barely get out of the chair. But I had been doing so much better in recent months. I just didn't expect it.
Here is the reality, as each week goes by, I realize just a little bit more what I have lost. Its like peeling an onion. More is exposed, more tears flow. What I may have known in my head, I am now learning in my heart. This is the work of mourning. Feeling it, living it, coming to terms with it. I am doing the best that I can. But there will be days. They are fewer and further between. But there will be more. I want this to all be better, but it will take what it takes. It takes patience. Not my strong suit, now, or ever.
"I become painfully aware that no one is paying me for all the hours I need to stare into space after a loss." ---Mary Hayes-Grieco
"We become anxious at all the time wasted grieving, curled up on the couch with a balled-up handkerchief, staring off into space, reliving the details of his death over and over again.
There are so many other things we should be doing! Yet in truth this is exactly what we must do right now in order to heal and get on with the business of life. The laundry may pile up and social and work appointments may be put on hold until we are in a position to be productive.
This is the "work" of mourning, and while there is no tangible compensation, the actual payment is considerable. If we give ourselves all the time we need, we come out on the other side, rested and ready to resume our worldly responsibilities. Until then we need to keep pressure to an absolute minimum and remember to be easy on ourselves."
excerpt from "Living with Loss" by Ellen Sue Stern
At the beginning, after Tom died, there was little I could do but stare into space. I couldn't keep a cogent thought in my head for more than 3 seconds. It has progressively gotten better over the months. And then last week I felt like I was going backwards. I was crying every day. It seems that in the car, on my way to a meeting, a song would hit the radio which was one of several on RuMoRs playlist. One day, the song "Color My World" by Chicago came on. That was the only song that Tom actually sang with the band and he would always dedicate it to me. Suddenly the white lines on the road became very blurry. A week before I decided that I would mix it up a bit and listen to a country station (and I NEVER listen to country). The third song in was by Phil Vasser, the last lines of the chorus "An' I'm gonna wrap my arms around you, An' rock you all through the night, An' I'm gonna love you, Like it's the last day of my life". It a miracle that I actually get to where I am going in one piece.
This past week-end I decided it was time to deal with Tom's drums, selling his vintage Ludwig kit. In order to do that I needed to photograph it. So out into the garage I went. I was doing OK until I open his gear bag. The smell of gear is very distinctive. The moment I opened it the memories came out of my eyes and ran down my cheeks. For a loooong time. Oh those memories--hauling gear, setting up gear, tearing down gear, watching Tom play, remembering how much he LOVED to play.
And then yesterday. What happened to yesterday? It was the nine month anniversary of his death. I had been warned that people tend to take a little dip around the nine month mark. I was not prepared. I woke up feeling ill--cold and achey. I couldn't focus on anything. And I struggled all morning trying to convince myself to work. I finally realized that it was a useless struggle and gave in to what my body, mind and spirit really needed. Respite. So I put on one of Tom's sweatshirts, climbed into bed and cuddled with the dog. I quickly fell into a lovely nap and felt slightly better when I woke up. By the time this morning rolled around I felt better and ready to get back to this new life. Quite frankly I was shocked that it hit as hard as it did. I've had other days when I hit the wall and could barely get out of the chair. But I had been doing so much better in recent months. I just didn't expect it.
Here is the reality, as each week goes by, I realize just a little bit more what I have lost. Its like peeling an onion. More is exposed, more tears flow. What I may have known in my head, I am now learning in my heart. This is the work of mourning. Feeling it, living it, coming to terms with it. I am doing the best that I can. But there will be days. They are fewer and further between. But there will be more. I want this to all be better, but it will take what it takes. It takes patience. Not my strong suit, now, or ever.
Friday, October 23, 2015
Choice
Its all about choice. Damn! You mean I can't just sit back and wait for the magic to happen?
The journey of grief and sorrow is not a straight line. It is not controllable. There is a lot of "going with the flow". In fact, I wouldn't have it any other way. The only control is how I react to it. I know how to deny pain, stuff pain, ignore pain, pretend pain doesn't exist. But only for a little while. It will ALWAYS come back to bite me in the behind.
I would like to believe that the worst days of grieving the loss of my love are behind me. I am not foolish enough to buy into that. There will be moments, or perhaps days, where the feelings overwhelm me, bring me to my knees, where I snot all over everything, wail about the unfairness of it all, curse the universe for the agony I may feel. And that's OK. Because those are just moments. Those are feelings that I must feel, must express, to aid in my healing. They come up for a reason, they are a part of the process. They suck. But I cannot live there. I choose not to live there.
It is easy to play the victim. It is easy to be helpless. But I am neither a victim nor helpless. Yes, at times I feel like a victim because Tom is gone way too soon and our very happy marriage on this plane is no longer there. Yes, there were/are times when I feel helpless. But come on, really? Me? Helpless? I have tons of help available to me just for the asking (or whining, as the case may be). I have family who love me. I have friends who love me. I have people who will gladly help me. So helpless, I am not. Sometimes I just have to open my mouth because those friends and family are not psychic (but how I wish they were!)
There is that word again, "choice". I know all about misery. I am not as comfortable with it as I once was. I don't like it. In fact, I refuse to live in it. It is all 100% refundable if I would like it back. But I don't want it back. I have another 30 years or so to continue living. I am NOT going to live it in misery. I am NOT!!!!!
I believe in an orderly universe. It may not be an order that I understand, but there are reasons to everything. I do not believe in coincidence. I believe in synchronicity. There is a reason that Tom is no longer here. He had done the work he came to do. I wish it were different. I still hold his medical team accountable for his early demise. That is a battle yet to be fought. And there is a reason I am still here. I don't know what that reason is, more will be revealed, perhaps more will be required.
So I have a choice. I can choose to marinate in pain, or ignore pain, or embrace pain. In embracing it, I feel it and set it free so it does not control my future. I can choose to be happy or deny happiness. I can choose joy. Or I can choose to ignore it, be blind to it.
Yes, there will be times that I will have a pity party for myself. It is only a place I visit, not a place I live. I hope that you will kindly understand and allow me those moments. But slap me out of it I unpack and set up housekeeping.
Today I choose to do the best for me, to choose gratitude, to choose joy, to choose happiness. I may not feel it all the time. I will fake it until I make it. But I choose to move forward. And in moving forward I am not leaving the past behind. I am bringing the very best of it with me, for without it, for without the years with Tom, I would not be the person I am today.
The journey of grief and sorrow is not a straight line. It is not controllable. There is a lot of "going with the flow". In fact, I wouldn't have it any other way. The only control is how I react to it. I know how to deny pain, stuff pain, ignore pain, pretend pain doesn't exist. But only for a little while. It will ALWAYS come back to bite me in the behind.
It is easy to play the victim. It is easy to be helpless. But I am neither a victim nor helpless. Yes, at times I feel like a victim because Tom is gone way too soon and our very happy marriage on this plane is no longer there. Yes, there were/are times when I feel helpless. But come on, really? Me? Helpless? I have tons of help available to me just for the asking (or whining, as the case may be). I have family who love me. I have friends who love me. I have people who will gladly help me. So helpless, I am not. Sometimes I just have to open my mouth because those friends and family are not psychic (but how I wish they were!)
There is that word again, "choice". I know all about misery. I am not as comfortable with it as I once was. I don't like it. In fact, I refuse to live in it. It is all 100% refundable if I would like it back. But I don't want it back. I have another 30 years or so to continue living. I am NOT going to live it in misery. I am NOT!!!!!
I believe in an orderly universe. It may not be an order that I understand, but there are reasons to everything. I do not believe in coincidence. I believe in synchronicity. There is a reason that Tom is no longer here. He had done the work he came to do. I wish it were different. I still hold his medical team accountable for his early demise. That is a battle yet to be fought. And there is a reason I am still here. I don't know what that reason is, more will be revealed, perhaps more will be required.
So I have a choice. I can choose to marinate in pain, or ignore pain, or embrace pain. In embracing it, I feel it and set it free so it does not control my future. I can choose to be happy or deny happiness. I can choose joy. Or I can choose to ignore it, be blind to it.
Yes, there will be times that I will have a pity party for myself. It is only a place I visit, not a place I live. I hope that you will kindly understand and allow me those moments. But slap me out of it I unpack and set up housekeeping.
Today I choose to do the best for me, to choose gratitude, to choose joy, to choose happiness. I may not feel it all the time. I will fake it until I make it. But I choose to move forward. And in moving forward I am not leaving the past behind. I am bringing the very best of it with me, for without it, for without the years with Tom, I would not be the person I am today.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Baby Steps
My life for the past year and a half has had big momentous stuff in it. BIG! The defining thing over these last months has been my husband's illness and subsequent death. It has changed me forever. It has been a soul journey. I miss him more than ever. It has been just over 8 months since he left this earthly plane and my soul still feels like it is missing a part of itself. I've just passed one of the most difficult months--the anniversary of the deaths of my mother-in-law, my mother, our parrot and two friends as well as our wedding anniversary and my mom and husband's birthday. I think I held my breath through the month because the last few days I've been extremely sad--a delayed reaction perhaps? Of course, I also just gave up sugar and all things white this week so that will also impact my mental health. Sugar and white stuff are no longer there to fill that hole and I must deal with it.
While I am extremely sad, I've never been more driven since Tom died. If you know me, do not mistake "driven" to be anything like I was before. Since Tom died I have lived only in the moment. I've just begun to think about the future but have no idea what my future will be. And therefore have been unable to take any action. I have had yet another aha moment today. Let me explain . . .
About six weeks ago, we received an assignment in my spousal bereavement support group, The topic was to share about our "emerging" self. What do we see as our future. To be honest, it wasn't until about May that the thought even occurred to me that I must create a new life, one without Tom. And really, I don't want to do it. I want my old life back. But I don't have a choice in the matter and I am one to take on most challenges head on. So I did a fair amount of cogitating on the matter and from the two weeks of contemplation, three "pillars" emerged for me.
1. to lead a spirit-filled and spirit-led life
2. to be lean, fit and healthy
3. to have love in my life
I have had no idea how to get from here to there. And I didn't feel the need to have a grand plan. There are lots of different ways to get there, and I've not yet formalized those things. I've started the process of creating a vision board, but to date all I've done is go through magazines and pull out images. I've not gone beyond that for a variety of reasons, mostly time, and work priorities. (I really should be working right now but am feeling really drawn to do this).
This morning I realized that action is required to achieve those things I want in my life, and I am the only one responsible for that action. And it may be baby steps. I may not know everything that I want or how to get there, but more will be revealed.
So for today I am taking a baby step toward item number two. I've gained weight which has made my knee pain much worse, to the point it is interfering with my daily life. I can be the only one to change that at this point (I plan on putting surgery off for as long as possible and I am no where near in a place to undertake such a big surgery). This week I've quit sugar and white. I've had a headache for a few days. I am determined to make small changes, small commitments, one at a time, to change this part of my life.
Just for today I will feed my body healthy nourishing foods.
While I am extremely sad, I've never been more driven since Tom died. If you know me, do not mistake "driven" to be anything like I was before. Since Tom died I have lived only in the moment. I've just begun to think about the future but have no idea what my future will be. And therefore have been unable to take any action. I have had yet another aha moment today. Let me explain . . .
About six weeks ago, we received an assignment in my spousal bereavement support group, The topic was to share about our "emerging" self. What do we see as our future. To be honest, it wasn't until about May that the thought even occurred to me that I must create a new life, one without Tom. And really, I don't want to do it. I want my old life back. But I don't have a choice in the matter and I am one to take on most challenges head on. So I did a fair amount of cogitating on the matter and from the two weeks of contemplation, three "pillars" emerged for me.
1. to lead a spirit-filled and spirit-led life
2. to be lean, fit and healthy
3. to have love in my life
I have had no idea how to get from here to there. And I didn't feel the need to have a grand plan. There are lots of different ways to get there, and I've not yet formalized those things. I've started the process of creating a vision board, but to date all I've done is go through magazines and pull out images. I've not gone beyond that for a variety of reasons, mostly time, and work priorities. (I really should be working right now but am feeling really drawn to do this).
This morning I realized that action is required to achieve those things I want in my life, and I am the only one responsible for that action. And it may be baby steps. I may not know everything that I want or how to get there, but more will be revealed.
So for today I am taking a baby step toward item number two. I've gained weight which has made my knee pain much worse, to the point it is interfering with my daily life. I can be the only one to change that at this point (I plan on putting surgery off for as long as possible and I am no where near in a place to undertake such a big surgery). This week I've quit sugar and white. I've had a headache for a few days. I am determined to make small changes, small commitments, one at a time, to change this part of my life.
Just for today I will feed my body healthy nourishing foods.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Zora is growing into such a good dog.
When we brought Zora home almost two years ago we crate trained her. Over the last few months we have been letting her stay out when we leave for a few hours. She usually just sleeps. She is not a mischeiveous dog like Kona was. This week we went out to dinner with friends and left her out. When we got home I walked in and found the living room floor covered with stuff. And then I realized the stuff was only her toys (and the stuffing from one of her toys). We keep her toys in a basket on top of her crate. The only way to get to them is for her to climb up on my chair. She ONLY touched her toys. Nothing else in the house was touched – no shoes, no counter surfing, no garbage. Nothing! What a great dog! Kona was always getting into stuff. We had to put a baby lock on the cupboard that held his food since he would get in there and pull out the bird seed and whatever else was in there. I am very proud of our little girl. If she could just get past her shyness with new people it would be great.
See more progress on: The 43T Ass Dog Report
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