Its DEAD DEAD DEAD!!!!

We buried our first pet last night. My youngest daughter's hedgehog to be exact. I noticed something wasn't quite right with Gnarly yesterday morning. He makes (excuse me, made) a lot of noise at night, so we kept his cage on the landing of the staircase. As I was coming downstairs (at 6:15 a.m.) he was spread eagle face down on his little ramp. I thought he was dead then, so I kicked his cage to confirm. He didn't move so I tossed a death shroud over his cage so "E" wouldn't see him. A couple of minutes later, I heard the sound of his little toy mouse jingling. Poor thing...he must have mustered his last bit of strength and rolled down the ramp. It wasn't looking good for Gnarly, but he was still hanging on.

Plan B and I went to my house at lunchtime with a box (just in case) and he was in the same position as the one he was in when I left for work in the morning. But, he was still alive. We splashed some water in his face and tossed some food at him. He tried hard to move, but when we left, Gnarly was leaning portside and I knew he was going to be a goner by the time I got back home from work. I had all day to think about telling my daughter her beloved pet was dead, and what on earth I was going to do with its carcass. We were never small pet people - no birds, fish, gerbils, etc. so this was all new territory for me. No surprise, Gnarly was dead when we got home.

Now, I knew the telling part could have gone one of two ways: Either (A) E was going to be nonchalant about the whole thing ("He smelled, I was bored of him, I didn't like having to clean his cage" etc.) or (B) all hell was going to break loose. There is no more intense child on this earth than E, and she definitely inherited "the world is black or white" gene from her mother. So I was pretty confident in the fact that there was going to be no gray reaction. My poor daughter crumbled when I told her. She literally dropped to the ground. For three solid hours, that child sobbed and heaved and begged and gagged. I hurt for her. It was the most dramatic example of raw human emotion I had ever witnessed. It was heartbreaking.

During the few moments when my daughter was able to compose herself ever so briefly, we buried Gnarly. I went to the landing to recover the body. He died with his nose caught on the edge of his cage, so his head was tilted back a little. Two of his legs were jutting out to the side and his nose had started decomposing already. It grossed me out like I can't even explain. I want to puke just thinking about it. I couldn't stomach the idea of reaching in to the cage and touching him so I used a gardening shovel, tied him up in a bag and put him in the box aforementioned. E asked me to put some food in his coffin so he wouldn't be hungry on the other side, which I did. And I tossed in the toy mouse (also aforementioned) to keep him company for eternity. Off in the dark we went, mini cardboard coffin in one hand and a trowel in the other, to look for a suitable spot to intern Gnarly. We settled on a spot behind a row of shrubs. I dug; E wailed; and my oldest daughter held the flashlight. We placed some flowers (ripped out of a neighbor's yard) on the grave and said our goodbyes. Rest in Peace, Gnarly.

Love, Part I

Man is designed to be communal. Segregation and isolation can drive the human mind to insanity. We crave companionship and the touch of another person. I don't think I am speaking out of turn when I say that even the most stoic of us needs physical contact and an emotional connection. I met my ex-husband when I was 18 years old. We separated when I was 38. For the better part of those 20 years, I lived in an emotional void; a sterile, loveless, sexless, and humorless environment. By the end, I was so starved for love and affection, I felt as though I might die. Looking back on it now, I had been dying from the inside out for a very long time. Over the past couple of years, my quest for love has taken me on quite the interesting journey. I was on a desperate, frantic search for someone to let me love them and to be loved in return. I went on every date sure that "he" was going to be the one. I looked at every guy I met as the next Mr. Right; the White Knight who was going to sweep me off my feet and make everything all better. I kissed so many frogs, it’s a wonder my hands and feet hadn't webbed.

Recently though, my whole attitude changed. I must have had some sort of epiphany. A period of personal growth for sure. Suddenly, having a man in my life wasn’t so important. I felt really good about being me. Professionally, things were running smoothly. I had a few close and trusted friends. My children were happy and healthy, and really, what else is there? I felt whole and I no longer felt that I NEEDED a man. The hunt for Mr. Right is exhausting and full of disappointment and rejection. Once I stopped the search, I developed a feeling of inner peace, a certain calm and tranquility; a sense of independence and confidence.

They (whoever "they" are) say that love walks into your life when you least expect it. The harder you look, the more elusive the prize. Stop looking and it will find you. I stopped, and it found me. I think that one of the reasons it happened is because I believe in a few basic principles that help me get through life. They are:

(A) Do unto others as you would have done unto you;
(B) The eyes are the windows to the soul;
(C) Respect your elders;
(D) Everything happens for a reason;
(E) Trust your instincts;
(F) For every pot there is a cover; and
(G) Some stuff is just meant to be.

These things are important to me. I believe them and I live them. Thanks to believing in (B), I have found the closest thing to love I've felt in a very long time. They eyes must really be the window to the soul, because if you ask him, I looked into his eyes and touched his soul from across the courtyard.

To be continued…