Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Belladonna got invited to the Prom

Belladonna had an unusual little skippity-jump in her walk as she came out the the minivan after "The Battle of the Sexes."  Some young fellow I never heard of had invited her to the prom.

Five seconds later Kubota punctured the afterglow with, "Dad put Oreo down."

Don't ask questions when you don't want to know the answer

"Dad.  You took him to the vet.  Right?"

No answer.

"Dad.  You took him to the vet.  Right?"

"Do you really want to know the answer?"

"Dad.  You took him to the vet.  Right?"
"Do you really want to know the answer?"

"Dad, I would not ask if I did not want to know the answer."

"Bella, I shot him in the head."

Things did not go well after that.


Looking back, I think part of Belladonna's grieving is that the "Dad" of her imagination died.  The pliant, pleasant, joking guy she thought she knew did something unexpected. 

Another part is grieving is the death of our middle class status.  We no longer can afford to pay people to do things we can do for ourselves.  Why pay money for iced tea when we can make if for one quarter of the cost?  We are letting go of those markers of status. 

Mrs ERJ also had a piercing observation:  Vets do not like to put dogs down.  They bust their butts to save them.  Putting dogs down tears their hearts to pieces.  We are not doing the vet any favors by taking in the family pooch.  Putting down Oreo the way I did was not as sacred and stately  as a church service.  But it was calm, dignified and fitting.  Oreo was in a wonderful place and in a peaceful state of mind when the switch was flipped.

In the final analysis, most of Belladonna's grief was because she lost another facade that stands between the innocence of youth and the fact of our own, bodily mortality.  Having a third party, a vet, do the deed does not knock down that facade and stamp it into the dirt the same way as when your own, beloved dad is the agent of death.

Some parts of growing up suck.

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