Yesterday, I looked at the photo of Rousseau (the one on the left, below) I have as the desktop background on my computer at school. Then I got out my phone and looked at a picture I’d taken of him last Sunday. Wow…we all age, don’t we? Even pups. Look at the difference seven years make:

As I sat and looked at the two photos, I bawled. I know the time is coming — the time no pet owner wants to confront. He’s 12 now (13 in September), and we notice he’s moving a lot slower. His eyes are a bit droopy and cloudy, as opposed to alert and radiant chestnut brown. He often struggles getting up from the floor. These last two “things” he’s endured (the surgery and the stomach sickness last week) seem to have really taken the wind out of him.

The clock is ticking, and I don’t like it. Of course, we are going to adore, spoil and enjoy the heck out of him for however many years he has left. He’s still as affectionate, gentle and full of personality as he was on the day we got him. The two breeds that make up Rousseau (English Springer Spaniel and Australian Shepherd) have an average lifespan of 12-15 years, so it could be that we’re nowhere near that day. But…that day is coming. It’s the singular terrible thing about loving an animal.

There are several aging pets that I know of among my RtB fiends. In my immediate family alone, there are two Labradors, a Poodle and a Beagle who are all 9, and an 8-year-old Shetland Sheepdog. BoomR’s dogs are getting up there, too, I think. Chevy, the Famous American Cat who lives with Suzanne in the Netherlands has got to be 15 if he’s a day. The Thriller and I are not alone in the realization that our beloved four-legged kids are inching ever closer to the home stretch.

Stan Rawlinson wrote in his Ten Commandments From a Pet’s Point of View:

Go with me on difficult journeys. Never say, “I can’t bear to watch,” or “Let it happen in my absence.” Everything is easier for me if you are there. Remember, regardless of what you do, I will always love you.

[I can never get through that list without completely breaking down. Cue Sarah McLachlan, In the arms of the angel…Oy.]

So I will most certainly, if circumstances go that way, be there when Rousseau takes his final journey. But for now, I think I’ll get my tennies on and take the Old Man for walk through the park. After coffee, of course.

FO

I can take a nap later if I want to. I’m on vacation. And there was much rejoicing.

Today, I shall bake a cake and clean my house. Or bake a cake and watch a movie. Or bake a cake and then bake something else. Tomorrow, Mavis comes over and we start putting together the Christmas meal. I’m looking forward to several stress-free days, when I will not touch a piano (so maybe my tendinitis will start to heal, oweeee) or think about upcoming rehearsals.

Well, I’ll probably think about them…

We also plan to enjoy the fabulous dinner-and-a-movie gift that BoomR and BV sent (B — the Thriller wants to see Sherlock Holmes). Bando came for a visit yesterday and gave me some delicious treats (I’m having a shortbread cookie with coffee this morning) which I plan to share with the family tomorrow. Thank you to both of you!

So, is all your shopping done? Are you ready to enjoy the most important parts of the holidays, whatever they are  to you? That’s the best part, isn’t it.

Happy Finkday! Time to get busy — or not.

So, my wonderful fiends — did you enjoy your Thanksgiving holiday? I hope so. We surely did at the Fink house. Helen, who hasn’t been feeling well of late, was able to join us, and she brought her lovely sister, who was visiting from Texas. Even though everyone was very tired from having dinner-hopped all day long, a delightful time of love and laughter was had by all. For that, I am grateful and happy.

Then, Black Friday fell upon us, and it was all men, women and shopping carts for themselves. It was the first time I’d done the early-morning shopping excursion, and it was fine. We didn’t see anyone throwing punches or acting stupid. In fact, daughter-in-law Hannah and her mom Jane and I had a fantastic time.

Look at what all I got done yesterday. Even with the insanity of huge lines and what looked like Saturday night traffic (when it was 3:30 a.m on Friday), I discovered that one can really get some good deals by schlepping it out long before the butt crack of dawn.

And yes, that’s a tiny little artificial tree. The Thriller and I decided to take the plunge yesterday, and as a result, going out to get a real tree, hauling it into the house, trimming its  trunk and branches, feeding and watering it, lighting and decorating it, then disassembling and dismembering it are now a thing of the past. We’ve moved on, as it were; too old to mess with it anymore.

At first I was very sad. Now I’m just half sad. But it’s not fair of me to expect the Thriller to do the lion’s share of the physical work (which he would do if I asked him to) when it’s just not wise for his increasingly creaky bones anymore than it would be for mine, so…it’s the Martha Stewart 4-footer from now on, and I’m OK with that.

But hey, I’m still in the Christmas spirit, so fear not! I’m ahead of the game on wrapping gifts (until the online orders start arriving, that is), and I’m pretty much done shopping, so now I can enjoy the upcoming season — which starts, delightfully enough, tonight, with a Js sleepover, when we’ll decorate the tree, play some games, and maybe make some gingerbread cookies.

Hope you had a great weekend. What was your favorite food experience?

I can’t believe how fast the time has gone.

The very first post at RtB, back in February of 2008, was about a sleepy little 6-month-old (6? 7 months? I don’t even know) who’d just awakened from his nap. Look at that round little face! Such a sweet baby. Well, that baby is four years old today. What a great kid. I’d tell you how incredibly perceptive, funny and intelligent he is, but you’d just say that was Grammie being biased. Well, I am, but — he is. And much of that is due to his parents providing him with lots of conversation, opportunities for discovery, books, loving discipline, and tons of hugs and kisses. That’s a good recipe, if you ask me.

So, whether he’s piloting a whirlybird,

or riding the open range,

or simply having a heart-to-heart with a sheep,

…he’s still just an all-around fantastic boy, and I’m proud to be his Grammie.

Oh, and I had to include this photo just because it’s ten kinds of cute. Justin and Dad getting the goat’s goat:

So I’m off to wrap presents, hit the grocery, and pick up Mavis for the party. (Poor Thriller is flat on his back with the flu and will miss the fete.)

Happy Saturnday! Glad to hear from NASA that you avoided being flattened by a solid rocket booster.

First, thank you to all my RtB fiends for their texts, emails and calls. For those who don’t know, my sister Mavis was life-flighted to Columbus yesterday with a massive pulmonary embolism and right-sided heart failure. Thanks to my awesome bosses and colleagues at school, I took off just after noon yesterday and drove down there, and I’m spending the day there again today.

I’d take a picture of her reaction this morning when I tell her that her son is flying up from Florida on Friday, but I fear she’d jump out of the bed and pound me. Can’t take that risk. But I’m sure her expression will be priceless.

Have a good Tunesday, luvs. I’m off.