Our sweet little boy:
Cujo was not my dog. I gave him to my parents seven years ago. But I saw him every day. He was very, very special.
My mom was recovering from colon cancer surgery when I gave them the 14 week old puppy. Well, she had had it the previous year and was not all the way back from the months of chemo and radiation and then more chemo. My brothers had a few things to say about that. They felt that he would be hard for them to handle and that I should not have given him to them.
When Cujo was about 10 months old, mom had a bad blockage and had to be hospitalized and have another major surgery, and the nurse had to come to the house to take care of her. Through this there was Cujo. And Cujo managed to help my mother, my mother fell madly in love with him. He had his toys, and he was her boy.
Seven years later it is hard because I really did not take a lot of pictures of him. My camera lives at home. There would have been so many good pictures, pictures with my sisters' babies, pictures of holidays, pictures of normal everyday life.
My folks went through a lot with Cujo. He had veterinary concerns, and both of my parents had their surgeries, and through it all was Cujo, somehow managing to not drag them down, not wrench their weak parts, and to pull them out of bed, worming his way into everyone's heart.
He was a guardian, a boy, a pet, a babysitter, an attraction, a goofball, a willing participant, a receiver of goodies, hugs and pets, a reason to get up and go.
The brother-in-law who once told me that if he bit him he would kill every dog in my kennel, watched his two year old and then his frail miracle baby play with and manhandle Cujo.
The brother who criticized me 7 years ago, told me the other day that Mom needs another one.
When I come to my parents house each day it is locked now.
There is no barking rush of energy at the door when I come in.
No one follows me to the bathroom, clicking his toenails along the wood hallway.
No one waits on the landing overlooking Mom's study, the parking lot, the living room, and the front door.
I will never go out and sit on the front porch with him, again.
The little girls need to come to my house now to get their dog-fix.
I hope my mother and father will welcome another critter in time. Mom is open to it. Dad is not. Not now. Both are sick right now, and a little depressed.
He is sorely missed.
Thanks for reading.