Backup

I've always been one to have backup, as long as I can afford it, I have a backup of it. Backup applesauce, backup toilet paper, backup parmesan cheese…you'd think I lived through the Great Depression with the amount of backup I sometimes have. But, I hate the idea of running out of something, or being caught without when you really need it. Today, having a backup is actually considered cool and is more commonly referred to as "stockpiling." But, I was Country, When Country Wasn't Cool.

When Eleanor was 3 years old, Lance and I were already thinking ahead to the sad day when we would lose her. She was a mix of Mastiff and Rottweiler, breeds that both tend to have a lifespan much shorter than your average lab or retriever. Unfortunately, the larger the dog, the shorter the time you have with them. And considering Eleanor had blown out her ACL in both knees as a puppy, we knew that was taking even more time away from us. So, we decided we would get a 2nd dog that would not only keep Eleanor company, but would serve as a sort of "backup" for when we lost her. Those who have dogs, will understand our logic and will undoubtedly observe that same age-staggering practice.

But, Franklin messed up our plan. As Eleanor aged and became less able to stand her ground with him, he turned into a big, fat bully. We had to make that sad but necessary decision to re-home him. Eleanor after all, was our first dog and we knew she wasn't going to be around too much longer. It wasn't right to ask her to live out the rest of her life always under fire from Franklin. I was and still am sad to have moved Franklin out of our home, but now I'm angry with him. He messed up our plan. He was supposed to be here to help us grieve our loss of Eleanor and he isn't. Instead we're left with the cats and they have not stepped up to the plate. In fact, today I couldn't even find any of them when I wanted a little fur-snuggle.

Don't get me wrong, I love my cats. In fact I was a cat person long before I became a dog person, but it is apples and oranges. Never have George or Henry come to lay their head in my lap as I cried, nor have they given me the look that says, "it's okay, I'm here for you." I miss that look. I expect later this evening when Henry is ready, he'll come lay on my lap and purr while I pet him. And I'll take it. But I would rather have had my backup dog ready to dry my eyes and keep me company during the long, quiet, lonely day that was today.