Will you remember me?

I walked into the laundry room where our last little dog was sleeping. The years had taken their toll on his itty bitty body. Over the past year he has lost so much weight, and that injured knee of his was failing him. The night before he had had what looked like a seizure. Today he was in his bed looking weak. I sat next to him on the floor and gently pet his little head. He let out a few cries and I knew. I quietly said- partially asking permission, partially confirming aloud- "It's time isn't it, Peanut?"
I sat with him for a few more moments before exiting toward the sounds of a baby stirring and a little boy waiting to be taken to preschool.

By the time I returned home I had collected the number to the near by veterinarian, and resolved that I would take our little dog and not bring him home. Before dialing I decided to check on him one more time- to remind myself that it was the right decision. There in his little bed was his little body- lifeless. His final gift- that I did not have to make that end-of-life decision for him.

Ray came home to bury him under the tree---

That was three days ago.

We have talked about what and when to tell the kids..... the reality.... they haven't even noticed.
Yes, he was an old dog that didn't play, he didn't play even as a puppy. He was to tiny to tug or catch a ball. His finger sized legs too fragile for caring around or for a little boy to rough house....
Yes, in his younger days he was a grump whom wore doggie diapers and bit my Dad when he doggie sat for us.

He was flawed.

But that fierce, fragile, grumpy, underwear-wearing dog lived... and died.... and now... it was unnoticed.

I had a dream last night. The first of likely a series of the same reoccurring, as most my dreams do.
My dream was of a mound of dirt. A simple mound without grass, and a sprinkle of wild orange poppies. My kids are running around the mound and pause to pick a flower- only to run off and play somewhere in the background. The mound was left- unnoticed by all but Ray. He stopped and placed a single yellow rose on the mound -and walked away to the calls of distant children.
I know what is under that mound. It is me- and I am the one that is left unmourned- and unnoticed.
I to am flawed. I fail to play at so many opportunities, I to can be a grump whom will snap at good intentions.... Perhaps my consciousness of this night message will prevent the dream from reoccurring.... I certainly hope so... because it hurt-

I don't know when the kids will look for Peanut. I am sure at some point they will. Until then I will quietly grieve my flawed little dog, who I do remember, and who taught me to be a little less forgettable.