How not to worm your kids.

18 August 2012 – An Aside from S


 

Dear Little Man,

Nearly 15 years ago we welcomed you into our lives, just after the girls Grandmother took her life. You diverted our attention, helped us laugh, kept us busy.  My beautiful girls were 3 and 7, tiny, inquisitive, full of wonder like you, with tiny legs and always looking for food, like you.

You grew along side the girls, walked them to school, welcomed them home. I picked up your poop.  My brother took his life and you looked after us, your fur soaked up my tears, you kept the girls busy in the garden while I fell apart in the kitchen. I picked up your poop.

We moved to Australia, we got you a passport and to Australia you came, the girls impatiently waiting for you. Thirty days you spent in quarantine, we visited you, tears flowed and tantrums (the girls not yours) ensued every time we had to leave you, the girls just didn’t understand, you didn’t either – it was heartbreaking.

You missed the English country side, the lush grass, the Australian grass made you itch, like a well-bred Englishman you developed expensive allergies to this foreign country. We bought you socks. I picked up your poop.

Once I mixed up your worming tablets with the girls, desperately I rang the vets they assured me you’d be OK, human worming tablets would not harm you. I turned around relieved, to see a terrified 9 year old clutching her sister shouting “Well are you going to ring the Doctors to see if we are going to be OK?”  “No, no you’ll be fine.” The girls still haven’t forgiven me – I never wormed them again. (Top Tip people – DO NOT worm your children and pets on the same day.) I picked up your poop.

You got the girls and I through a heartbreaking divorce, two more house moves, a Year 12, poor times, birthdays (remember you took two chunks out of my birthday cake and they still served it to me). You took a ride in every car – you rode shotgun in Brady’s first car Filipe. You never learnt to cock your leg to take a wee (too many girls influencing your life hey?) I picked up your poop.

The girls always wiped their hands on you, you were always sticky (drove me nuts). You never ventured far, you were always taking care of us and you’ve left behind a fabulous wardrobe even Elton John would be proud of.

We made a new family and they loved you too, understanding your eccentric ways and special needs, that’s how we knew they were OK : )  But our home is sad and broken, Sunday was devastating and each day since. You kind sweet, tolerant soul. You are so greatly missed, loved and appreciated. All our memories for the last 15 years include you. Only people who have had a dog live in their hearts could understand.  There is, was and always will be only one Roodle Doodle the Fancy Poodle.

We love you, you sweet little man. You will always be loved and remembered. And I’m still picking up your poop but I don’t mind, I don’t mind at all.

Sleep well Rudy, you are loved and you loved us and that is all there is to it. That is all there is to anything.

About Dead Man’s Diaries

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