My goodness, my Guinness

A certain wonderful black dog has been on my mind a lot these days.

Memories and reminders of Guinness, our wonderful boy whom we lost while we were in Russia, are always close. I think of him each time we head to bed and see the two dog beds at the foot of our bed. I think of him whenever I use my computer, which is a lot, because a picture of Guinness and Killian remains as my desktop wallpaper. I just can't change it. Hope even knows his name now and mentioned him in the car today. Of course she doesn't understand who he is, where he is or any of that, but she says, "Guinness and Killian" and it both warms my heart and makes me sad because she never got to know him.

I miss him.

Today, in addition to Hope saying his name out of the blue in the car, it was pumpkin that made me tear up. That boy adored him some canned pumpkin. I wish I'd given him more.

He used to catch dog treats thrown his way. The other day, without thinking, I tossed a treat toward Killian, who never has learned the skill. It bounced off her head and I was sad, because I'd expected, in a way, Guinness to be there to catch it.

When we left, we'd just learned he likely was sick. But, he wasn't ready to leave yet and we weren't going to decide for him when it was his time. I've always believed our doggies tell US when it's time for them to make the journey. It wasn't Guinness' time yet.

But I was afraid.

Everyone told me he'd be fine. I didn't believe it. In my heart of hearts, on the last day we were home before we took him and Killian to my parents where they would stay on our custody trip, I knew it would be the last time I sat with his head on  my lap. The last time I'd spoon against his long, skinny body on the floor. The last time I'd toss a treat or hear him chatter at me or whine to go out.

Our boy had a good life. He had a good end. I know that. He was with his Mammers and she knew what to do and what to say and when he was ready. But I'll always, always, always regret not getting to whisper in his ear and be the last voice he heard. I'll always wish it had been different. But, we all know that wishing doesn't make it so. 

Words can't do him justice; they can't do any of the greyhounds my family has loved justice. We've said goodbye to so many and each one continues to hold a special place in our hearts. They were all amazing creatures, as are the ones who bless our lives daily - our special Killians Irish Red, who at the moment is literally being buried in blankets by Hope, most definitely included.

There are some days when thoughts of him make me smile, and some where they make me cry. Today is one of those days.

To the sun and the moon and the stars, my boy. You've taken a piece of my heart with you.