Pooh

My sweet little Pooh.
Pooh was mad at me for 6 months after I gave her this haircut. She wouldn’t talk to me.
Pooh on “her chair” with 5-month-old Britton
Pooh was my first baby. She was a precious, little black poodle with much attitude. My parents bought her for me my senior year in high school if I would break up with my then boyfriend. The dog won. And what a great decision it turned out to be, as she was the best little dog.

I carried her to high school in a baby blanket, and I think she slept in my bed from day one. She was quite the sloth, which I loved. She outlasted several boyfriends, outlived my father, and was around for my wedding day and the birth of my first child. Pooh was, and still is, family.

Most breeds each have a particular health problems that are common, and poodles are no exception. Pooh had epilepsy (and at one point had her bladder taken out). And her epilepsy got worse over time. Seizures are quite scary, particularly to those who must watch. Pooh was my baby. When I got pregnant the third time with Kenley, something in Pooh was slipping away. She looked great physically, but her “wiring” inside was array. I took her to Dr. Quarterman who we saw far more often than Britton’s pediatrician. And he told me that he didn’t think Pooh would get better. He wasn’t sure what the exact diagnosis was, and without invasive and extensive test, it would be hard to pin point.

Devastated doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt. I will never forget, it was labor day weekend- the weekend that my second baby that I lost was suppose to have been born. I told Dr. Quarterman that I needed the weekend to think about it. Looking back, I wish I would have prayed about it as I would have been at peace with it much sooner.

Her last night, she slept in the bathroom. She was unable to walk and unable to control her bowels. It killed me not to have her next to me. She woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t stand up. There was urine all over the bathroom tile. The next morning was a Saturday and I knew what I had to do. It wasn’t fair to keep Pooh alive just because she looked like Pooh on the outside. My little Pooh was already gone.

Big Daddy, oh forget- Mike. His name is Mike. This big Daddy stuff is too complicated. Mike took her to Dr. Quartermen for fear that I would lose the baby because I was so upset.

I gave Pooh a bath, I wanted her to be clean and fluffy. And I held her for a long time and talked to her. Mike was with her when she passed away, and she was buried in our then backyard.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of my sweet Pooh. It hurt my heart just as much as losing my father, and that is not to take away the impact of my Father on my life.

Britton and I often talk about Pooh. On the way to school today, Britton saw a dog and said she missed “Poohbie“. I told her me too, but that Poohbie is happy because she is with God now.

Britton: “But I want Poohbie to come back to down to da city” (funny, I never think of our town as a ‘city’)

Sweet little Pooh.

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