Welcome to my world

Hey everyone and welcome to my lair.

You want to know what I believe? I believe anything is possible, that you can achieve a goal no matter how high.

That the world impossible is not a word, that red velvet cupcakes and cookies are a necessity. And that rambling, dreaming, and achieving are three things that get people success in this world.

I am currently on my first, yet to be edited draft of a novel I crafted that I am very passionate about: Obsessed.

You might hear more about it later. And it is over a 100,000 words, at least the word-count machine in microsoft word tells me so.

I love many tv-shows, including Smallville, Chuck, Nikita, and White Collar. I enjoy making characters, shipping TV couples, like Damon and Elena, Tess and Oliver, Michael and Nikita, Chuck and Sarah, etc, and writing fanfiction about my favorite couples on TV.

Quote of the Month

"Please tell me you didn't waste all that jet fuel to come down here and deliver me a lecture."--Oliver Queen

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Snicker's Journey

Last weekend, on the fourth of July, after we had begun packing the car for our once every two years family reunion... my beautiful baby girl, Snickers Olsen, a full-size dachshund, reddish brown, 15.8 pounds, collapsed.

Her rear hind legs just gave out, she began dragging herself, like a wet seal, across my carpet to the couch, as I cooed to her, to come see her mommy.

I had no clue that she had just been paralyzed with a type 2 disk degeneration. It broke my heart. We were just on our way out to finish loading our luggage into the two cars, we dropped everything to say goodbye to Snickers Olsen.

I pulled her body across mine, gently laying her down in my lap, stroking her beautiful, slightly matted fur, murmuring words of love, comfort, as I spread kisses across her face, head. Her body weight was entirely shifted onto my numb leg, which she laid on, but I could care less. The only thing in the world that mattered was my Snickers.

My dad phoned our vet friend and he told us, from the looks of it, Snickers was going to have to be put down. At 14 years of age, she was getting too old. Her body couldn't handle the enormously expensive 4,000 surgery that she might need and the fracture she sustained would most likely be too much.

We would have to say goodbye. My mom, generally insisting she doesn't love all three of our dogs, knelt down, laid her head across Snickers', kissed her forehead, tears dribbling down her cheeks. My sister screamed, ran to her bedroom, to cry in silence. My brother, Jon, mostly stoic, was clearly upset.

And my little brother, Riley, was even crying, gently petting Snickers, comforting her. We packed her into the car, with her favorite blanket, toys, in my dad's lap and transported her to the vet's office in Riverton. What seemed like an eternity, but was really twelve-to-fifteen minutes, and we arrived at the clinic.

I opened the door, hustled my dad, who bundled Snickers, into his arms, into the office, my remaining family members trailing behind us. We were a troop of solemn soldiers, preparing to pay our respects, to our fallen comrade.

We were ushered into the largest room they had, offered lukewarm, small, bottles of water. The room for being their "biggest" was small, slightly cramped. It contained a medicine cabinet, a scale to weigh dogs, a counter to lay them upon and six small chairs. Otherwise, the sparse room was decorated in cat paraphernalia.

Snickers was panting, heavily, still, clearly in a deep amount of pain. Our vet arrived, tested her, weighed her, gave her an x-ray. When he took Snickers away, in his arms, for the x-ray, I feared I would never get her back. That he was secretly signaling mom and dad, to let them know, he was gonna put Snickers down, to sleep, that there was no hope for my baby girl. My girl, who would make the angels cry at one glance at her.

Then he pronounced, a slight, trembling smile on his face, said, "the situation is optimistically hopeful. Snickers will live. Here's some medicine. You have a four week trial period. If she improves, she lives. If she doesn't..."

We shuffled out, parted ways. At home, dad said a tearful goodbye to Snick and everyone but Mom and me left for the family reunion. Snickers was the world's worst patient.

Our first day, she jumped off the bed, nearly straining her back. She couldn't potty. She couldn't do it by herself. She couldn't walk. We had to hand-feed her. She was refusing solid food, still is. We feed her medicine through peanut butter on a spoon.

I'll update more on the situation, later, but my baby is struggling.

I hope I don't have to put her down.

I love her.

She's my everything.

My sun. My moon.

There is no world without her.

I don't even want to see the sunlight, when I know, on a nice day, I can't enjoy it in the park with her. I don't want to see the day, when I know she could be walking beside me, trotting, growling, demanding, cutely, for a treat from the jerky bag in my fingers.

I would do anything to make sure she was okay, to ensure that my world remained intact, with Snickers Olsen, in my life.

Just long enough even for her to see me graduate high school.

I would give her every year I had left of my own near 18 years of life to ensure that.

I'm praying for a miracle.


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