On Christmas Eve someone left a puppy at my parents' house. I got blamed... just because I got my Mom a kitten for Mother's Day and she had recently mentioned wanting a puppy. He was running around having a ball with all of the kids on Christmas Day. We were convinced my dad was the one who got the puppy for my mom. He spent all Christmas Day trying to give the puppy to Misty, and threatening to take him to the pound. She's been wanting a puppy, but I've been adamant that we do NOT need a puppy.
My parents left on the 26th to go to Las Vegas. That afternoon I told my mom we would come over and feed the dog while they're gone. So we went off to have Christmas with Jacob & Abby's "adopted" grandparents and family. While we were there, my dad called and said he'd decided to take him to the pound. It was closed so he left him in a cage outside. I didn't believe him. It was a guilt trip. Irregardless, we went by the shelter on the way home to make sure. I didn't see any cages. I knew he was lying.
Tuesday I went to work and my brother-in-law told me one of our employees was at the hospital. His wife found him unconscious and not breathing. Long story short, he passed away. A massive heart attack at 41 years-old. We called my dad, but he had his phone turned off.
Meanwhile, I went back to the pound to look for cages in the daylight. I saw no cages. Yep, he was pulling my leg. Later in the afternoon I went back again with the kids. We walked through the adoption pens looking for Chris. He wasn't in there. As we were leaving I looked to the side of the building... there they were. Cages.
We finally got in touch with my parents. My dad was upset about Kent's death. He was trying to get an earlier flight home, but was having no luck. Everything was booked. Later, my sister called and told me we needed to go to the pound the next day. My dad had been feeling guilty all day about leaving the dog at the pound. So we needed to go get the dog. We went Wednesday morning to get Chris. (My fourth trip to the pound in 36 hrs.) Chris came and stayed at the office until lunch time when I carried him home. Long story short... we have a new puppy. He's been re-named. Our next door neighbor's name is Chris and I decided he may not like hearing us saying things like, "Chris peed in the floor again." "Chris stop chewing on my shoes!" "Chris is a little leg-humper, isn't he?" So now he's Harvey (the dog, not the neighbor).
Wednesday night was Kent's visitation. I don't like funerals at all. I don't do well seeing other people when they are sad. This was one of the toughest I've attended. I had the job (self-imposed) of telling the widow and son (who works for us also) that my parents were unable to get a flight back in time to be there. Plus it was just really sad. As I got to the door, I heard a loud sob. I wanted to turn around and run home. From that point I was in line for about 15 minutes. I spent most of it wondering what I would do if I were the one at the head of the line, if that were my dad lying in a coffin right beside me. I hate funerals.
I made it through the line. With great effort, I was able to squeak out my lines (again, self-imposed). "I'm Tommy's son. I'm so sorry. My parents couldn't be here. They tried to get a flight, but everything is booked. They are still trying to get back for the funeral tomorrow." I hate funerals.
We got a puppy!
Thursday was the funeral, which was a grave-side service. It was cold, but was much more bearable than the visitation. For the most part anyway. I'll just let it be said now that I DO NOT in anyway or for any reason want someone to play a song from their car at my funeral. I hate funerals.
My parents were supposed to leave Las Vegas Thursday afternoon and get home that night. My dad called around 2:30 to say their flight was canceled. They would fly out at 10:30 Pacific time. They got to Memphis around 9:30 Friday morning with no sleep. They got home around noon. One of their bags didn't make it.
Friday I went to pick up my grandmother from getting her hair fixed and take her back to her apartment. When I got there, she was sitting in the floor. She said she sat down to look through some things. I found out today she fell. She's fine though.
On the way home she tells me that a man I'd known all my life died earlier in the week. Howard Darby was one of the best men I knew. We named Abby after his wife. He always smiled. I mean it. Always. We went to see him a few months ago when he had just learned he had cancer. He was grinning from ear to ear. He passed away and I didn't know about it. His funeral was at 11 am that day. I found out at 2 pm. I was crushed. Absolutley crushed. There are only a few people in the world for whom I will do whatever necessary to be at their funeral no matter when or where it is. He was one of them. God, I hate funerals!
But did I mention that we got a puppy!
To sum up...I hate funerals. I want to be cremated and have a keg party when I die. Also, a puppy will cure what ails you.
Here's to a better week!
No comments:
Post a Comment