Often in this house it feels like all I'm listening to is a constant stream of toddler whines. Sure, there are happy moments and times of laughter, but those fussy, whiney cries of discontent can so quickly drown out all the happy noises. It's exhausting.
I'm trying to find the balance between being strictly authoritative and leading by being calm. Both ways can achieve accurately communicating that that's not how we express ourselves in this house, but they're totally different approaches. The first feels to me like a stiff and intolerant method. Roscoe gets whiney, and I turn into an order-barking porcupine. "You stop that whining right now." Bam. That's it. No wiggle room, no discussion. The second method looks more like: roscoe gets whiney, and I approach him lovingly, gently; put him on my lap and calmly (firmly, yes, but serenely) convey that we don't whine our words. That he is welcome to always tell me how he feels, what he is thinking, but without whining. We as his parents are always here to listen and talk things through. There is no "porcupine" feeling here. I am being completely approachable, nothing to fear.
I believe both methods have their right place. When I say I want to calmly, lovingly instruct him, I'm not saying that I let him walk all over me. Yes, I am the parent and he is the child. I get that. I know there are times when the firm "put the foot down, don't stand for anything else" approach is necessary, but should that be the case every. single. time.? Can't we communicate and instruct our children without barking orders all day long?
Does any of this make sense? I've heard that every child responds to different methods of teaching and correction differently, I'm just trying to figure out how mine is wired in this area. And it's a challenge, considering he's a toddler who can't yet communicate with words, only whining--the very thing I'm trying to correct.
Advice?
Friday, November 30, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
Hard to say goodbye
Sherman Lee Grant.
Goodness. He was such a good boy. I met Sherman when I met Mark a little over 6 years ago. Those 2 were a package deal. I wasn't much of a dog person then, to be honest with you, but that guy had a way of winning everyone over. He was full of excitement and energy and life. Even if you were having the worst day of your life, walk in the door and he'd be standing there, tail wagging, overjoyed that you came home. He was never not excited to see you. Even to the last day of his life, when we knew he was in pain, we could approach him with the usual "who's a good boy...." and that tail would start twitching.
There will be more dogs, but there will never be another Sherman. I don't even care if you as a reader think this sounds stupid.... But I am so thankful to God that he gave Mark the gift of Sherman when he did. That dog was right beside Mark through a bad bad bad (but oh so fortunate for us all) breakup with his ex, the death of 3 of his 4 grandparents, not to mention just the plain everyday struggles and frustrations of life.
He sensed things. When I was pregnant with Roscoe, that was when we really started to bond more than ever before. He would come to my side of the bed every morning (after his morning visit with Mark, of course---priorities!) and cuddle against my chest, often placing his paw on my large belly. I remember specifically one time that Roscoe pushed against that paw from the inside, and Sherman just looked down and pushed back against Roscoe. And those 2 were best buds from Roscoe's birth. Thankfully right now I think Roscoe is just the right age to not really know what's going on, or why Sherman isn't here, though he does miss him. Often during the day, even though Buddy is still here right now, Roscoe will walk through the house and say "Doggie! Doooooggie? Doggie..." It definitely breaks this mama's heart.
But it was his time. That's what comforts us most right now. He's not suffering anymore! About 3 months ago, he just started acting so old so suddenly. Mostly joint pain, but we had some medicine to give him. He seemed to respond to that and antibiotics, and was still eating and acting normal. He just seemed like an older dog. But over time, it got harder and harder for him to get up and down the stairs, and he started falling more often when he was trying to get up and down.
What's frustrating to me is that he had gotten so much better a couple weeks ago. Mark had to be gone for military duty for 1 week, and I was nervous about what was going to happen to Sherman while he was gone. But to our surprise, he improved. That was at the beginning of this month.
But starting about a week ago, he plummeted downhill. He stopped eating, wasn't drinking much, wasn't motivated to get up in the morning (sometimes lying in the same spot until noon or later, when he needed help getting up to go to the bathroom). We went to hang out with friends as usual Sunday night, and when we got home around 11 pm, he was lying by my side of the bed and wouldn't get up. Normally both dogs sleep in the office, but that night we just covered him up where he was. He didn't get up Monday morning, and when he hadn't gotten up by noon Mark made the painful statement that if he didn't get up by evening, we were going to have to call the vet and most likely put him down. There had been talk before about "if he gets much worse we'll have to put him down" but never on a time frame like that.
Oh if I could have willed him to move! I was sending him all the "GET UP!!" vibes that I could. I didn't like what was staring us in the face. See, I've never been through this part of pet ownership before. It sucks. I remember our family having a cat when I was very little, but I guess children are a little more resilient and bounce back pretty quickly. So when Simon the cat died, that was the last pet I had until Mark and I got married.
Sherman finally got up with Mark's help Monday night when we were going to bed, around 11 pm. 24 hours with no food, water, bathroom breaks...nothing. He ate about 3 bites of food and drank a good bit of water. Mark took him outside and when he came back in he said Sherman fell 2x while trying to pee. His muscle strength was just gone.
He went to bed and Tuesday morning rolled around. I wasn't exactly sure what was going on, and was asking Mark what we were going to do. I could tell it was killing him and that it was a hard decision to make, so I decided (knowing my husband and the way he handles things best) to scoop up Roscoe and head to spend the day with my parents so we were out of Mark's hair and he could handle it however it needed to be done--on his own.
Mark's dad came to the house to have lunch with him, and during that time I guess the decision was made that it was, for certain, time to let Sherman go--for his sake. I got a text from Mark around lunchtime that he was going to take Sherman in at 2:40.
Sherman's normal weight was around 75 pounds, never below 70. He tipped the scales that afternoon at a whopping 50 something. To our comfort, when the vet came into the room where Mark and Sherman were, she immediately said "this isn't the same Sherman you kenneled here 2 years ago is it?!" And she proceeded to fervently agree with the decision as she was examining him. She said that he had something else going on when she felt his stomach--it was like rocks. With Sherman's age (turning 8 in the spring), she said that her advice would be to put him down. Sure, there were probably oodles of test and things we could run, and then lots of medication we could have put him on. For what? To *maybe* give him another year? Nah, he wasn't happy anymore. He was ready to go. That full-of-life, sometimes too excited weimer was in too much pain to make him deal with it anymore.
Mark hasn't told me this, and I'm not saying I know how his mind works, but I'm venturing to guess that this is the hardest decision he has had ever to make. Sherman was more than just a dog to him, more than just a pet. I swear those 2 had a secret language that only they understood.
As for now--Sherman is buried in our backyard. We'll probably get him a nice marker. Mark is doing ok, considering. Yes, it hurts, yes, he grieves. Daytime isn't too bad. But evenings get difficult. (What is it about the sun going down that makes things more difficult to handle?) Buddy seems confused. Roscoe doesn't seem to notice much, aside from the occasional "doggie?" and search through the house. And, yes, even I, the "don't have to have a dog" kinda person, am frequently sad throughout the day, wishing I could go in to Sherman's bed and give him some attention and love. I never knew the absence of a pet could create such an emptiness in a house. I guess a good word to wrap up the way we feel is "raw."
Realizing that this isn't a bad dream. That it was Sherman's time to go. That he had a good life. And that our lives were better having him than if we hadn't. So, yes, there's pain. And it's not easy. But even so, we don't for one second regret that he was ours for the time that he was.
Rest in peace, Sherman. You're a good boy. And we miss you like crazy.
Goodness. He was such a good boy. I met Sherman when I met Mark a little over 6 years ago. Those 2 were a package deal. I wasn't much of a dog person then, to be honest with you, but that guy had a way of winning everyone over. He was full of excitement and energy and life. Even if you were having the worst day of your life, walk in the door and he'd be standing there, tail wagging, overjoyed that you came home. He was never not excited to see you. Even to the last day of his life, when we knew he was in pain, we could approach him with the usual "who's a good boy...." and that tail would start twitching.
There will be more dogs, but there will never be another Sherman. I don't even care if you as a reader think this sounds stupid.... But I am so thankful to God that he gave Mark the gift of Sherman when he did. That dog was right beside Mark through a bad bad bad (but oh so fortunate for us all) breakup with his ex, the death of 3 of his 4 grandparents, not to mention just the plain everyday struggles and frustrations of life.
He sensed things. When I was pregnant with Roscoe, that was when we really started to bond more than ever before. He would come to my side of the bed every morning (after his morning visit with Mark, of course---priorities!) and cuddle against my chest, often placing his paw on my large belly. I remember specifically one time that Roscoe pushed against that paw from the inside, and Sherman just looked down and pushed back against Roscoe. And those 2 were best buds from Roscoe's birth. Thankfully right now I think Roscoe is just the right age to not really know what's going on, or why Sherman isn't here, though he does miss him. Often during the day, even though Buddy is still here right now, Roscoe will walk through the house and say "Doggie! Doooooggie? Doggie..." It definitely breaks this mama's heart.
But it was his time. That's what comforts us most right now. He's not suffering anymore! About 3 months ago, he just started acting so old so suddenly. Mostly joint pain, but we had some medicine to give him. He seemed to respond to that and antibiotics, and was still eating and acting normal. He just seemed like an older dog. But over time, it got harder and harder for him to get up and down the stairs, and he started falling more often when he was trying to get up and down.
What's frustrating to me is that he had gotten so much better a couple weeks ago. Mark had to be gone for military duty for 1 week, and I was nervous about what was going to happen to Sherman while he was gone. But to our surprise, he improved. That was at the beginning of this month.
But starting about a week ago, he plummeted downhill. He stopped eating, wasn't drinking much, wasn't motivated to get up in the morning (sometimes lying in the same spot until noon or later, when he needed help getting up to go to the bathroom). We went to hang out with friends as usual Sunday night, and when we got home around 11 pm, he was lying by my side of the bed and wouldn't get up. Normally both dogs sleep in the office, but that night we just covered him up where he was. He didn't get up Monday morning, and when he hadn't gotten up by noon Mark made the painful statement that if he didn't get up by evening, we were going to have to call the vet and most likely put him down. There had been talk before about "if he gets much worse we'll have to put him down" but never on a time frame like that.
Oh if I could have willed him to move! I was sending him all the "GET UP!!" vibes that I could. I didn't like what was staring us in the face. See, I've never been through this part of pet ownership before. It sucks. I remember our family having a cat when I was very little, but I guess children are a little more resilient and bounce back pretty quickly. So when Simon the cat died, that was the last pet I had until Mark and I got married.
Sherman finally got up with Mark's help Monday night when we were going to bed, around 11 pm. 24 hours with no food, water, bathroom breaks...nothing. He ate about 3 bites of food and drank a good bit of water. Mark took him outside and when he came back in he said Sherman fell 2x while trying to pee. His muscle strength was just gone.
He went to bed and Tuesday morning rolled around. I wasn't exactly sure what was going on, and was asking Mark what we were going to do. I could tell it was killing him and that it was a hard decision to make, so I decided (knowing my husband and the way he handles things best) to scoop up Roscoe and head to spend the day with my parents so we were out of Mark's hair and he could handle it however it needed to be done--on his own.
Sherman's normal weight was around 75 pounds, never below 70. He tipped the scales that afternoon at a whopping 50 something. To our comfort, when the vet came into the room where Mark and Sherman were, she immediately said "this isn't the same Sherman you kenneled here 2 years ago is it?!" And she proceeded to fervently agree with the decision as she was examining him. She said that he had something else going on when she felt his stomach--it was like rocks. With Sherman's age (turning 8 in the spring), she said that her advice would be to put him down. Sure, there were probably oodles of test and things we could run, and then lots of medication we could have put him on. For what? To *maybe* give him another year? Nah, he wasn't happy anymore. He was ready to go. That full-of-life, sometimes too excited weimer was in too much pain to make him deal with it anymore.
Mark hasn't told me this, and I'm not saying I know how his mind works, but I'm venturing to guess that this is the hardest decision he has had ever to make. Sherman was more than just a dog to him, more than just a pet. I swear those 2 had a secret language that only they understood.
As for now--Sherman is buried in our backyard. We'll probably get him a nice marker. Mark is doing ok, considering. Yes, it hurts, yes, he grieves. Daytime isn't too bad. But evenings get difficult. (What is it about the sun going down that makes things more difficult to handle?) Buddy seems confused. Roscoe doesn't seem to notice much, aside from the occasional "doggie?" and search through the house. And, yes, even I, the "don't have to have a dog" kinda person, am frequently sad throughout the day, wishing I could go in to Sherman's bed and give him some attention and love. I never knew the absence of a pet could create such an emptiness in a house. I guess a good word to wrap up the way we feel is "raw."
Realizing that this isn't a bad dream. That it was Sherman's time to go. That he had a good life. And that our lives were better having him than if we hadn't. So, yes, there's pain. And it's not easy. But even so, we don't for one second regret that he was ours for the time that he was.
Rest in peace, Sherman. You're a good boy. And we miss you like crazy.
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