Here I Go Again

If you followed my last blog about puppy-rearing, or even if you didn't, I should probably set this up with some background. 

Adventures With Ruby chronicled the first year or so of my darling Ruby's life. Ruby, a Great Dane (or as I always told her an Awesome Dane) was a Christmas gift from my husband. One that I cherished for 8 short years. Ruby died about a month ago, in early December 2017. She died from a combination of age and cancer and I was with her to her last breath. More important than how her life ended is that until that day she lived a fabulous life. 

Ruby went from having a house in Illinois with a friendly English Bulldog named Sophie, four teenagers, and a never ending supply of sassy Midwestern squirrels to chase, to a very different life. Different - not better or worse. One-by-one the kids moved away. The oldest to Nashville in 2012, the next one to college shortly after that. Then the boy left for the United States Air Force in late 2013. And in 2014 we, along with the youngest kiddo of our blended family, moved to warmer weather and settled in Punta Gorda, Florida. Ruby loved hanging out by (but never IN) the pool in the warm sunshine, or just stretched out in the grass under the hot sun. 

Sophie never made it to Florida with us. She died days before we emptied the house and moved everything south. Ruby didn't get to say goodbye. Almost none of us did. I think Ruby was always sadder after Sophie was gone. Or maybe she was just older. She loved the neighbor dogs, Daisy and Lily and would watch for them from the front window to go play. 

Once we settled in Florida, Ruby adapted and was very happy. Turns out there are squirrels in Florida too. And big damn birds that jump around like cartoon characters when a Great Dane chases them. She absolutely loved boating and even learned to swim. A little.  The youngest kiddo eventually left for college and we adopted another English Bulldog named Truman. Truman and Ruby never had much of a bond, but they did share companionable moments. I'm not sure Truman even noticed she was gone.

She loved her trips to the dog beach, but she loved the human beach more. Somehow her inherent fear of everything and everyone was masked at the beach and she would walk with me along the water's edge and let anyone pet her. She didn't like the water, but she loved walking the beach. When we found out she had cancer and the diagnosis was grim, I took her to Venice Beach to her favorite dog beach and just spent the day with her. Her prognosis at that point was somewhere in the six to eighteen months ballpark and she managed to hang on nearly the full 18 months. 

I miss her every day. My heart has been empty for the last month, but has been broken for more than that, as I watched her decline rapidly and knew how little time I had with her. Her ashes, her favorite toy butterfly, and a picture of her and I at the dog beach that day rest on the bookshelves of our living room. Just a little ways away from Sophie's ashes, and Abby's - my first canine heartbreak. Each dog lived 11 years or less, with Ruby's life being the shortest.  

After Ruby was gone, I knew I'd never have another big dog. My heart can't take it again. I also know I can't NOT have a dog. Truman needs us both. But to him I'm a necessity. Not a buddy. The first few weeks after Ruby died, I tried to force Truman to be my buddy, to share my office during the day, to be happy when I came home. He repeatedly declined, preferring to wait out in the main part of the house for Dad to get home and barely opening one eye when I entered the house. 

So there's only one thing I can do. I need a new buddy. A little guy this time. Someone portable and with (hopefully) a much longer life. So the search began. And I think I may have struck gold.