Professor's Monthly Homework Assignment is to reflect on our babies. I have just one.
I didn't buy him or adopt him from the pound. He was purchased for $800 by an ex to become a show dog. When we went to grad school in different states, my ex left his dog with me to babysit until he could find a place that allowed dogs. Having a restricted breed, a Doberman, in parts of this country especially cities that aren't so dog friendly cost me a great deal of money. I note that here because I saved every receipt until my ex turned over his papers. It would have become a lawsuit as serious as any human child custody. Once you're a mom to a pup, you'll fight to keep him against all logic and costs. When you’re a mom to a pup, you’re always a mom… even when your best friend has crossed to the other side.
Aslan passed on 7/12/05 and still I miss him every day. His ashes are in my office right above my desk where I am typing this post now. Even when we were in parks or at my folks and he was allowed to run free, he always stayed close to me.... so I decided that he'd want to be close to his Mom. Our ashes will be buried together upon my death.
There was an episode of the Ghost Whisperer where the main character, Melinda, was having trouble walking down the hallway of a hospital because she was being overwhelmed by ghosts. I remember a golden retriever running down the hall and an elderly man petting what turned out to be the ghost of his childhood dog (of course, he was a ghost at this point). When Aslan was diagnosed with lymphoma and ran such a high fever that I had to make the only humane decision I could (and it was and still is a beautifully awful decision that was best for him), I laid on the floor on my pup while he took his last breathes and whispered, "You be the first". Regardless of all my great loves that I could predict in the future back then, I wanted him to greet me upon my own death.
I still have his leash, seat belt, collars, tags, and health records. How does one discard such things of one who was so precious?
I found this email in my account. I'm including it here for my post.
When you get to the end where I mention the dog treats, I will note that those pieces of Milkbone are still in the paper bag in the back of my freezer. When I left my ex, I took them to my apartment and then when I built my house, I moved them once again. My fella completely understands.
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Sorry I haven't emailed you both back sooner. I haven't responded to
anyone this week by email or phone. Thank you so much for your kind
words. I am just finding everything so difficult. Only cried about 99
times today... an improvement from 100. Seems silly that blankets
could make me cry. We're trying to wash Aslan's bedding to donate to
the vet. I gave his food, treats and medicine to my friend Angela so
she could use it for her dogs. We don't have the heart to move his
food bowls. I washed them and just put them back in place. Another
silly thing I guess but the apartment seems so empty already that I
can't tolerate any more change. The hardest part is just figuring out
who I am without Aslan... he's been every bit a part of my adult life-
the reason I live where I live, the reason I drive the car that I
drive, even one of the main reasons for picking Larry as our new play
toy was because Aslan liked him so much.
I've tried to do a lot of searching to figure out what my religion
says about dogs and heaven. Every darn Catholic has an opinion. The
best answer I found was from TV- an old Twilight Zone episode which
XXX (my ex) and I watched while I rested against Aslan the day before he got
sick. I feel like it was a sign.
The episode included a hunter and his dog, Red, hunting for raccoons.
They end up dying and must walk down a long stretch of land when Red begins
barking as they meet a man. The hunter asks if the man is St. Peter.
He replies "oh no. I work for him". He welcomes the hunter through the
gate but refuses the dog. The hunter decides not to enter saying, "I'm
only going in if Red goes in". The story continues with the man
telling the hunter that he'll sneak Red in later but the hunter
refuses, "if Red can't walk through the front gate with me I'll just
keep on walking". The man laughs and says that they'll be walking for
eternity but the hunter and Red continue anyway.
They walk about a mile when Red takes off running and reaches another
gate with an "obvious" angel. When the hunter arrives the angel smiles
and says that they're all glad the hunter wasn't confused by the other
gate (Hell) and adds "gosh sir, don't you know all dogs go to heaven".
Aslan is being cremated. Thank you for offering your yard. That means
a great deal. I've planned for his ashes to be released in the field
at my parent's house- his favorite place to run and play (probably his
version of Heaven). We will have a funeral service for him once his
ashes are returned to us. We'll also have a burial- I know you will
understand this no matter how ridiculous this may sound -- his last
night home we had a broken off piece of Milkbone and a small treat in
front of him which he refused to eat (that's kind of when I knew
things were as bad as they were). XXX (my ex) and I were unable to do
anything with those treats... in fact, I carried them around with me
for a few hours. I finally put them in a ziplock and placed them in
the freezer because I don't have the heart to throw them away. My mom
suggested we bury them under his headstone (which she has already
ordered). I thought it was a good idea. That way he can sort of take
them with him.
What makes my blog special?
Last May, the stars
aligned. I had a conference in New Orleans. This would be my third trip and for
the first time it wouldn’t include an excursion with a boyfriend/husband. This
was a trip for me to take back the city that I loved. My fella was very
encouraging. He knew that I needed this as much as I knew that I needed it. 
My arrival day was on May
10th, 2014. I landed and pulled off the
drop-off-suitcase-at-hotel-and-get- to-the-cemetery-tour in record time. I
toured St. Louis No. 1 cemetery within an hour of landing (even with a flight
delay). The universe was smiling on me. What made the day even better was that
THAT VERY NIGHT ***swoon*** THE Julian Sands (more swooning) whom I have loved
since I was a fledgling goth girl watching Gothic (1986) and dying over
seeing Mr. Sands’ bottom (I’m sorry but it’s true) in that performance. It was
on VHS so it was probably the size of a pea but still… I watched the movie
again and again and again and again. Not exactly for his nakedness but you know
what I mean. I rented it so often that I eventually owned it! I could write a whole separate blog post just
about that movie… but that’s for another time. Anyhow, 2014… I was in New
Orleans and Mr. Sands was performing THREE BLOCKS from my hotel. I planned a
nice dinner for myself and then walked to the Contemporary
Arts Center, New Orleans.
The night was Julian Sands in ‘A
Celebration of Harold Pinter’. 
The gardening season is behind us (or at least it is
in my climate). Now the only spider webs
I’m seeing are those that I wear around my neck. 
Today my small town had an Olde Time Holiday Parade.
We were all set to go but my fella wasn’t feeling so well and felt he needed a
nap. He was sleeping so soundly that I just didn’t have the heart to wake him. I
let him sleep and opted for an afternoon making and eating homemade cheddar potato
soup. It turned out to be the right choice for both of us especially since the
weather looked like it was going to rain. Everything has been go, go, go all
year. I’m trying to sit and just be more
this fall. Or at least I’m trying to be present with my thoughts even when I am
in motion. Rarely do I take time to take
care of my nails during garden season. Today I took some time to give myself a French
manicure. It was nice therapeutic start
to the week. 
I’ve been thinking about crows because of the myth
that they collect shiny things. They don’t really… or no more than any other
bird. They’re just inquisitive. Even with it being a myth, I’ve always muttered
that I am quite like a crow attracted to shiny things. This has come up
recently because while going out to eat at a restaurant last week, a woman held
me practically captive in the restroom commenting on my jewelry. “Oh my god, I
love it! It’s so different”… whatever that second sentence means. She kept
asking about where I “got my bling” which would normally have me step up on my
soapbox because I think “bling” is my least favorite word ever. In fact, I cringe.
See, this is the makings of a soapbox rant…. Moving along….
I tend to layer necklaces and bracelets so when
someone asks me for a history, I have to name each item one by one. I’m
actually lucky because I discovered a local jewelry magician who takes old unwanted
pieces and transforms them into brilliant *new* pieces. The good/bad part of
this is that once she knows your taste and understands you, she’ll make pieces
accordingly. 
