Bad Mom-ing

I am not always an amazing mom.

My daughter broke her back several years ago, flying off the  bars at a gymnastics meet. She initially complained about her neck hurting so we got that x-rayed. It turned out to be fine but once her neck no longer ached she complained of her back hurting. For some reason the doctor we went to didn’t want to do another set of x-rays so he decided to try all sorts of other things, along with telling her to rest. Ha! Not gonna happen! Anyway, long story short she wanted to go to Regionals but she was also blowing off practice. Knowing her coach wouldn’t let her compete if she hadn’t practiced I told her, “Look, you need to make up your mind. You don’t have to go to Regionals. There’s always next year. Your coach even said it was no big deal to miss it. But if you’re going to go then get your butt in the gym and practice!” Turns out she had a compression fracture. It was tiny but still… I told my daughter to get her ass to the gym and practice or sit out Regionals and it turned out she had a broken back. Awesome!

Oh, and did I mention that right after the accident (well, several hours later) she was on top of a casino riding the thrill rides with her teammates? Yes, I’m a winner. In my defense directly after the meet I did overindulge her with hundreds of dollars worth of new leos and gymnastics paraphernalia. She was also a celebrity because of the awesomeness of her fall so I let her bask in that glory. So sure, winner probably does describe my actions.

Then there was the time I accidentally shut the cargo door on my son’s head. I was horrified and told him I was sorry. He replied as he had heard me reply many times, “Sorry doesn’t cut it!” The difference, of course, is that when I would say that it was because he apologized for doing the same damn thing he’d always been doing and would undoubtedly do again! I wasn’t going to slam the door on his head again.

I followed that up with buying him a flask one year. I didn’t let him put alcohol in it. So there’s that.

But I think I’ve finally crossed the threshold. I have two children- one boy, one girl. I usually tell him, “You’re my favorite son,” and I tell her, “You’re my favorite daughter.” Of course, they both tell me they’re my only son and daughter, to which I reply, “I know. But out of all the boys (or girls) in the world, you’re the one I love the most.” Until the other day…

We pulled into the driveway and I asked Picasso to grab the food in the backseat, which he did. I decided to go for it. “You’re my favorite kid.” He looks at me and tells me, “Now we’re talking! No more of that ‘favorite son’ bullshit.”

Yeah, I’m probably headed to Hell.


O.M.G. I have no words.

I had kids over a weekend or so ago and they had the TV turned to MTV. Does anyone remember when they actually played music videos? That was the M in MTV. Now they play all kinds of ridiculous stuff. So… I’m watching a commercial for one of their new shows called… you guessed it… Prom-posal.

This show is all about extravagant invitations to the prom, or prom-posals. Once again I have to say: O.M.G! What in the hell is wrong with simply asking, “Hey, do you want to go to the prom with me?”

No, instead these kids have elaborate proposals that rival marriage proposals. What is left to look forward to?  Talk about setting yourself up for some high expectations. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that this isn’t some guy sending a pizza with, “Will you go to prom with me?” spelled out in pepperoni.

If you want to know why marriage is so disposable today look no further. It’s all about the show and it starts early. They’re taught to focus on the glitter and the glitz and never learn to look beyond those early days of excitement.

I once saw an elaborate marriage proposal on Facebook. Somehow the guy made a movie trailer, had it spliced in with the previews and had it play when his girlfriend went to the movies with her family. I hope she wasn’t looking forward to seeing that movie because if I thought I was going to see a movie and then received a marriage proposal right before I’m not sure I could concentrate on the movie anymore. I can’t shift like that. I’d be all like, “Dude, I was planning on watching a movie and now I’ve just gotten engaged. You ruined the movie for me! Awesome proposal, btw. Please try not to cheat on me twenty years down the road!”

I had friends tell me once that we were going to my favorite restaurant for my birthday. I’m like, “Oh yes! Chips and salsa! Virgin daiquiris (I was in high school at the time).” Turned out to be a surprise party. I really appreciated the surprise but, dude, chips and salsa!

If you want to surprise me try asking me to do something I won’t be excited about doing. “Hey, you wanna come with me to the vet’s while I get my dog’s anal glands secreted?” I won’t be bummed out at all if that trip turns out to be a big surprise party.

I really got off track there, didn’t I? Eh. These posts don’t all have to be winners.

Speaking of proms, my daughter went to hers with some friends. I was scheduled to work late that night so I missed helping her get ready and being able to take pictures of her at home. Instead I gave her money to pay for everything, my mom took pictures as it progressed, and she came out to where I was working so I could see her before she left.

Naturally, I burst into tears upon seeing her. She was so beautiful. And naturally my mom was all like, “Turn around! Let me get a picture!” Then I’m all like, “Mom! I’m crying right now!” But we both wiped our eyes and smiled for the camera. I hate missing this stuff but I’m learning to make the best of it.

She went and had a great time. Her friend apparently has a college boyfriend who didn’t want to go to the prom (obviously he has not watched Prom-posal or even know it exists!) but he did go to dinner with them and brought along a date for my daughter. I didn’t hear about that until the morning. Nonetheless, I’m happy she’s happy. I sure do love my girl.

What Part of, “I’ve Forgiven Him!” Don’t You Understand?

February 2015

My MIL called me last night. She was checking up on my husband because she hadn’t been able to get ahold of him. She knew he had planned on going to church and was saying that she hoped he continued to go and that it helped, and that she had heard he was supposed to see a psychiatrist and she hoped that helped, too. Then she went on to say she hoped he got better and that we got back to where we needed to be. What? Um, we’re fine. She went on about how the past was the past and I needed to forgive him and she was sorry for anything she might have done to me and she hoped I would forgive her. Everyone makes mistakes. And she knows it’s difficult because she went through it with her own husband years ago.

There are so, so many things I want to address in all of this mess. I’m not sure I can focus enough to get it all out there. But first, I HAVE forgiven him. I moved 2000 fucking miles across the country and completely uprooted my children and their lives, along with my own, in support of him. I would call that forgiveness. If I wanted to dwell on what he had done I would have never moved. Because, once again, our current town will always be Whoreville to me. I’m here because of my husband and his whore and their sweet little plans to be closer together. No matter how much I may come to like it here (and that’s doubtful) it will always be tainted by the fact they plotted to move my family here so they could carry on their affair. It was all put into motion once she started promising blow jobs and anal sex. I’m still here, still living with him. If I was going to kick his ass out I would have done it when I first found out he was still lying to me and cheating on me. I’m not softening him up for the blow. And I don’t believe in staying with a cheater and then using that to throw in the cheater’s face for the rest of his or her life. If you’re going to stay, make peace with the situation. I know some people say you can rebuild without forgiving, so I won’t say forgive and move on. But, you definitely need to make your peace with it and I have made my peace with him. I even do my best to not think about why I’m living here, 2000 miles away from my friends, my support system, my social life, my volunteer activities, because if I were to dwell on it I would cry. Harley and Zack fucked my life up spectacularly. Once my loving husband set the wheels into motion they didn’t stop just because he supposedly stopped fucking around with his whore of a cousin. Nope, they were going to send him (us) here come Hell or high water. So, you wanna play the past is the past? Oh, you bet your sweet ass it is. I’ve buried that motherfucker deep because I would be overcome with rage if I didn’t.

As for being sorry for whatever it is she’s done to me… well, that’s nice, but since you don’t even realize what it is that you did I’m not sure it means that much to apologize for it. And once again, I’ve made my peace with it. They will never change. I love them but I can’t have a relationship with them like I used to. I have tried and tried to envision a way that I’m ok with loving them, hanging around with them, visiting them, supporting them, sharing holidays, vacations, memories with them, and all the time knowing they love and support her, my husband’s whore. I will never feel safe. I know the minute he decides to toss me aside and replace me they will welcome my replacement with open arms and I don’t know how to have a relationship with people like that. I wish I could live in the moment, not worry about the what ifs. But when you’ve already been confronted with that I think it’s more difficult to pretend like it won’t happen. Everything about it just feels false. Oh, you love me. Oh, now you don’t love me because my husband no longer wants to fuck me. It’s not me they want to have a relationship with. It is my title. Whoever assumes the title of his wife is the one they want to have a relationship with. At this point I don’t even feel comfortable attending family events because I always assume the whore has been invited as well. And that would not end well. If we are ever in the same space I am about 99% certain everyone in that space will know exactly what she and my husband did. I find the whole situation sad. I find it sad that I am undoubtedly cast as the bad guy even though I was the one that was cheated on, and Zack and Harley were the cheaters. I’m the bad guy even though Jezebel was the one who lied to me, encouraged my husband to leave me, and talked trash about me. That’s just the way it is with them. Then you add in the humiliation factor, wondering if everyone is talking about you, your husband’s affair, how you compare to the sainted whore, how sad it is that you got cheated on and what on earth you did to “deserve” it. It’s an all around yucky feeling.

They are planning on coming to visit over Spring Break and I’m now waiting for her to come at me over Jezebel. The past is in the past. Everyone makes mistakes. Again, I’m trying to envision a way I’m ok with anything beyond superficial niceties and I’m once again coming up blank. How do you reconcile the fact that the person you are spending holidays with, confiding in, and creating memories with, will turn on you the minute her brother decides he wants to fuck someone else? Maybe it’s easier for her because she’s spent her whole life using people for what they can give her. So, she takes everything her in-laws can do for her and laps it up and when she moves on to the next husband it’s no big loss because now she has a new set of in-laws that can do new things for her. Or, to put it another way: It’s not about the relationship she shares with these people. It’s what all that relationship gives her. It would be like having a SIL that takes you on lavish vacations and shopping sprees. You like the person ok, but when the relationship ends you miss everything your SIL did for you a lot more than you miss the actual person. I even try to envision spending time with her on a superficial level. I say hello, how are you. When asked how I am I say, “Fine.” It doesn’t go beyond that. How are things in Whoreville? Fine. How are the kids adjusting? Fine. Just keeping everything superficial. Not excited about anything. I try to imagine having to go to her new house and be polite. Meet new people that I will only see every 3-5 years. I honestly believe I would hate it. I would feel like I was crawling out of my skin. Having to feign interest in everything she has and has done. You can’t be too noncommittal because then you’re considered rude and once again, you’re the bad guy. But treating her like someone I actually care about and have an interest in? I’m a good actress but I’m not that good. Besides, I don’t care if everyone knows the relationship has changed. Trying to imagine sitting outside at her fire pit. I suppose I would listen as everyone talked and not join in. Nothing to say. I would play the part of the uninvolved observer. Quietly listening and observing, not interjecting my own thoughts because I don’t wish to give anyone a glimpse of me. See? All of that seems so terribly complicated. So much easier to just stay away. There is no relationship so why create an artificial one? For her? Why? I don’t give a fuck about what she wants. She didn’t care about me and what I might have wanted. I’d like to return the favor.

Wow- ok, I think I did get most of it out. I can’t think of anything else really. I just keep trying to imagine these re-structured relationships and I have an incredibly hard time wrapping my head around it. It’s so much easier to avoid it.

When The Mistresses Call the Wives Entitled

February 2015

I was reading a blog the other day. It was taking about other blogs written by mistresses. There were comments about how they all sound alike and they talk of the wives being lazy, spoiled, willing to turn a blind eye for status and security, and acting entitled to their husband’s money. I thought about that and this is what I have to say.

Sweetie, I’m not acting entitled. I AM entitled. I’m his wife. All that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you. Those were the vows we made. He married me 20 years ago in a church, in front of God and our friends and families. I’m not some side piece he screws and keeps hidden. Everyone in his life knows about me. How many know about you? I’m the mother of his children. I was with him in the beginning when he was making almost 7 times less than what he makes now. I’ve been with him through all the moves, through all the anxiety, all the hard times. Your only job was to promise him sex and take care of his libido. You could sit there and listen and stroke his ego because he was your only concern. You didn’t have to concern yourself with raising those pesky children that refused to take care of themselves. No, I was busy doing that. Just like I was busy doing his laundry, cooking his dinner, cleaning the house, grocery shopping, etc. I am the MRS. and you are the MISTAKE.

Why Isn’t He Happy???

January 2015

I keep meaning to write and then I get busy, or I get tired. Usually it’s tired. And I wanted to do this on a computer instead of my phone or tablet. I was going to write about how much better I’m doing. How I don’t go to the infidelity blogs that I follow as often. How I’m tired of thinking about it and can more easily just tell myself, “I’m not going to think about that now.” I think the hurt and betrayal becomes such a big part of your life it’s not easy to lay it aside. But, I’m not going to write about that today. Instead I’m going to write about my feelings of frustration.

Zack had another bad day recently and it really threw me for a loop. I’m so tired of this. I know I should be more supportive. I know he can’t help it. I even know he’s taking steps to get better. But every time I think about everything that I have lost due to this move it enrages me. THIS was supposed to be what made everything better. Stupid thinking, I know. But he insisted he was miserable in our former state and would have broken down if he had to stay there much longer. Now we’re here and if anything he’s worse. I’ve lost my friends, my support system, my social activities. I have no more PTA, no more Bunko, no more gym trips, no more actual gymnastics, no more hockey. My daughter competes alone out here so it’s not like I’m going to make friends with the other parents. They are all very nice but I don’t hang around them. And, when you get right down to it I don’t even have a husband out here because he’s too busy burrowing in his bedroom, watching TV all evening. Why are we here? Oh, it’s not just because he was miserable in our former state. It’s because after a fucking week of his whore promising him blow jobs and a brand new shiny life with her, letting him know she could “envision a future” with him, he started talking up the Whoreville plant to those around him who could make it happen, letting them know he wanted it when it became available. I live here, away from my friends, because of my husband and his whore. My family is still 10 hours away. I don’t really see them any more often than I did when I lived 23 hours away. Spending the holidays with them was nice but it doesn’t make up for the other 363 days of the year that are miserable. I had high hopes my family was moving out here but those hopes were dashed. That sent me into a tailspin. I’m sure I will recover.

I have had a busy day today. I had a dentist appointment at 8:30, went to pick up my cat after the appointment, met Zack for lunch after I picked up the cat, and then dropped off my car to have the fuel door fixed. Later this evening I’ll be heading to school for a gymnastics meet where I’ll be helping at the score table. Oh, and I keep busy decorating. Every month there is a new theme. Keeps me busy! BAER

I want to like it here. I want to get involved and feel like I fit in, but I don’t know how. You’d think it would be easy after all the moving we’ve done but every time we move I have to start all over. We hated State #2 the first time we lived there and kept mainly to ourselves. We moved to State #3 and we began hanging out with people he worked with. We had a fantastic network of friends. I fondly remember going out to eat with 8-10 people, easily! Then we moved back to State #2 and we never hung out with his co-workers. I found an online group of moms from my area and had playdates once a week with them for a while, until one moved, one dropped out, one went back to work, and one returned to school. I got involved in church- I worked in the nursery and then worked my way up to the older grades as my kids aged. I joined the meal team. I led a small group. I started a MOPS group. Before I started a MOPS group I got involved in one close to my house. Joined the hospitality team. I volunteered at my daughter’s school. And I drove her to gymnastics and Bible Club and Bible School in the summer. When we moved to State #4 I couldn’t find a MOPS group. I never found a church where I could feel at home and really get involved. So I looked to PTA, and I got very involved. I did Teacher Appreciation the entire time I was part of PTA. I was the elementary school president for 4 years. I did the president thing at the middle school. I was the council president. I moved up the following year to be the region secretary. I made friends with all the other moms on my daughter’s gymnastics team. I started playing Bunko and then started up my own group. I drove my son to hockey and became a hockey mom. Now we’ve moved again. We don’t hang around Zack’s co-workers, the PTA is a joke out here, my kids have aged out of MOPS years ago, hockey doesn’t exist out here and gymnastics is a joke. And church? Well, let’s just say I’ve been struggling with my faith for a while and I’m not sure I want to put myself out there yet again. I’m tired of starting over. I’m 45 years old and my life has been completely dismantled. I don’t even have a husband I can lean on because he’s dealing with his own issues. So I’m all alone. Thank you once again Zack and Harley for your thoughtlessness and selfishness! I’m so excited to be able to live out your dreams.

Present Day Sam Says: Why wasn’t he happy? Because he’s never happy! Because moving was never about his dream job; it was always about getting closer to Harley. Maybe they weren’t still in contact when we moved; maybe they were. The fact remains we moved because they put the move into motion during their first affair.

More of Poor Pitiful Zack

January 2015

Zack has been very sick (like, hospitalized sick) and has also been dealing with extreme anxiety. Lots of war issues. I noticed though that he would ask, “How can you ever forgive me? How can I make it up to you?” And I started thinking, why would I need to forgive him for what he did in war? Why would be need to make it up to me? So now I’m wondering if he was actually talking about his EA. He was in such rough shape I didn’t ask if we were still talking about the war. In my mind, though, that’s what he was asking about.

Present Day Sam Says: If I’m being honest I would like to believe that he really was struggling with believing I didn’t love him. Because that would mean he did actually love me. But in a twist of fate if that really was what happened then it’s too easy to try to take responsibility for what he ultimately chose to do.

If I believe he was psychotically depressed over the thought of losing me, that he was suicidal at the thought, then it’s too easy to me to say, “See? It’s your fault. If only you had reassured him he wouldn’t have left. If you didn’t have that alternate Facebook page then you’d still be married. YOU caused all of this! You have no one to blame except yourself!”

Here’s the thing: Regardless of whether or not he thought I would never forgive him (Newsflash: I had! I moved across the damn country for him!) the way he chose to solve this dilemma was entirely, completely and utterly wrong. He had many options and yet the one he chose was to cheat on me. He chose to confide in others who were only too eager to urge him to move on and leave me. When the cuntface cum dumpster called him he could have refused the call. He could have told me she called him. He could have been honest. That would have required some courage on his part, though, and he is sorely lacking in courage.

Likewise, if he was truly so unhappy and felt unloved and like we could never repair our relationship he could have left before he found himself a new true love. I’m so sick and tired of hearing about all these pansy ass cheaters who are “so miserable” and yet never find the “courage” to leave until they’ve got somebody else to fuck.

Yes, nothing shows conviction like tossing aside your wife or husband once you’ve encountered someone you want to nail.

Jailhouse Rock!


This originally showcased Harley’s most recent mugshot. Is it wrong that I need to differentiate? It’s not enough to say CF’s mistress has a mugshot. Oh no! There’s a first, a second, and a third.

Maybe one day I’ll post a picture of her. Hell, maybe one day I’ll publicly name her and then anyone who wants to can Google her name and look up all of her mugshots!

January 2015

You know, there is a sadness factor here when you Google images of your husband’s whore and you get an updated mugshot. What in the Hell was he thinking?

I forgot to mention- this was taken in October, a mere 3 months ago.

I find irony in the fact her first mugshot was taken in late May of 2012. I think to myself, “Wow- less than a year later she’s texting my husband and planning a life with him. I guess she really wanted that new life.” Her second one appears in October 2014 which is just under a week after I “celebrated” my 1 year anti-versary of finding the FB messages where my husband declares his intent to marry her. Guess that time of month wasn’t all that great for her either.

Two Takes On Anniversaries After Infidelity

January 2015

This is my current mindset (taken from the Internet):

It doesn’t work for everyone though – my husband’s grandmother sent a text today to wish us a Happy Anniversary. I responded politely saying that we don’t celebrate it anymore because “broken vows = broken marriage = no anniversary” She wrote back and said that it’s a celebration of us finding each other. Can’t agree with that because that would be in November then…which is when we met.

In my opinion, anniversaries are a celebration of the day that you stood before God and made a promise to be with one another (and only one another) for as long as you both shall live. Now, that promise was broken by him…so that day is basically a lie and is dissolved. All the meaning of that day has been taken away from me.

This is where I’d like to be:

Now after 5 years since D day, our anniversary is a day to celebrate what we’ve regained. The years before matter very much. Our marriage is a patchwork of many events, emotions, laughter, and tears. I believe that nothing in our life should be wasted – so even the bad times can turn into something useful.

Getting over his affair was the biggest struggle of my life. Now that we have recovered getting over it was one of the biggest triumphs in my life. Anniversaries now actually mean more to me (and to him) than they did before the affair. The first one after the affair was sheer hell. I still remember the details of it, but I don’t feel bitter and angry about it. It just was what it was. We’re here now and I’m very happy about that.

Maybe one day…

Present Day Sam Says: I really thought that year 21 would be different, that I could celebrate the anniversary. I never got the chance. Seems strange to preface that sentence with sadly, or unfortunately. Is it? I tend to think that a person who could do what Cousinfucker did to me never loved me at all, and all of our anniversaries were a sham. Thank God in hindsight he never made a huge deal out of them. Although I do have to wonder in some of my “pain shopping” moments how he and Harley are now going to celebrate. I’m sure it will be something gaudy and showy. They have to justify stepping on everyone’s necks to get their happiness.

And So It Happened

I said goodbye to my beloved Beau yesterday.

It turned out he had several large masses in his abdomen and they were cancerous. The vet told me this type of cancer is always fatal and even if we had caught it at the very beginning he would have had at most 6 more months from the time they caught it. That was with expensive surgery to remove the tumor and expensive chemo as a follow up. I make $11/hour. I would never have been able to afford that.

While I know there was nothing to be done I still feel like I failed him. If I hadn’t been poor, scraping by to wipe my ass and eat both in the same month, I would have taken him in earlier, and thereby ended his suffering earlier. If I hadn’t been so eager to believe his weight loss was due to advanced old age I would have found an extra hour or extra $300 to take him in despite the long workdays and 6 day work weeks. I could have just explained to the kids that it was going to be a mac-n-cheese/hot dogs/peanut butter and jelly sandwiches kinda month so I could afford the vet bill. But instead I was selfish and blind and my poor dog suffered for it.

I was there at the end for him. The vet originally discouraged me from staying because he said as deteriorated as his body was the drugs might not act as quickly. I told him I wanted to be there anyway. I wasn’t going to leave him alone in his final minutes. I might have failed him tremendously in these last few months but I could do the decent thing and not abandon him now.

They put him on the table and administered the drugs as I held him and stroked his neck. He had a moment where it seemed like he was trying to get up but I just held him and told him to relax. He slumped against me, the third drug was given and he was gone.

Farewell, my hunky monkey. I’m so sorry I failed you in your final months.  You were loved and you will be missed.


Saying Good-bye

As much as I hate to admit it my beloved dog is approaching the end of his life. He has been steadily losing weight for the last few months. I haven’t had adequate funds to take him to the vet’s, although my brother keeps insisting that it’s simply a matter of him aging and losing muscle tone. I’m afraid there may be a blockage or a tumor and that’s why he’s losing.

This dog has been my baby for almost 12 years. He represents one of the few times I stood up to Cousinfucker.

You may remember me recounting how for years I had wanted a Great Dane that I would name Beauregard, Beau for short. Well, I met Cousinfucker and he had always wanted a Boxer that he wanted to name Beauregard, Beau for short. Guess what we ended up getting? Yep, a Boxer named Sampson.

No, I kid. It’s Beauregard. Beau for short. Or Beau Beau. Beau Ray Mi. Bojangles. Bocephus. Bobacita. Beau-dee O-dee O. Bo-bee. My big hunky monkey. Big boy. Handsome.

I even made up a song for him. It’s sung to the tune of Green Acres:

Bocephus is the dog for me.

He’s a Boxer; he’s got ADD

Land spreading out so far and wide

Keep that poodle I want a Boxer by my side.

I got him as a gift for Cousinfucker because I’m a kind, considerate person. I listen to people and I know what they like and I try to get them things they would enjoy, not just random shit. So one year I got him a Boxer puppy for his birthday.

I drove the seven plus hours to his home state to get this dog for him because Tammy Faye knew someone whose son raised Boxers. He was selling them cheap due to a tragedy in his own family. He was born late July and we got him right before Halloween so he was right around 12 weeks old. He was just a gangly little thing and so bad!

He ate EVERYTHING! Shoes. Dolls. Guinea pigs. He would knock the kids down and pull them around the yard by the hoods of their coats. He would try to grab their shoes off of their feet and frequently succeeded. When that happened he would run around the yard like the proud victor in war, the shoe dangling from his mouth as he bolted away from the kids who had given chase. He even ate the back of one of the recliners, which I hurried and had reupholstered so CF wouldn’t know because he already wanted to get rid of him.

I took him to obedience training when he was still a puppy. I fed him. I let him out and cleaned up his messes when he would have them, which wasn’t often. I even slept with him, although in hindsight I’m not sure how that worked with both kids still sleeping with me. Hell, maybe I had 2 kids and 2 dogs in the bed with me. It wouldn’t surprise me.

So where did I stand up to him again? Oh yeah. We got him in October and by the following August we knew we were moving 1500 miles away. CF thought it made more sense to give him away before we moved. I thought it made more sense to give Cousinfucker away. I told him I was NOT leaving that dog behind. I loved that dog. I even paid outrageous money for a dog trainer to come to our house and go through obedience training once again. Plus that re-upholstered chair from above.

When I was officially banished to the couch I would sleep with my beloved Beau every night, resting my feet on him. He was a true pillow pet. Some days I would pull out the recliner and sleep sitting up with his head resting on my lap.

When we moved 2000 miles across the country a few years ago my daughter chose to ride in the backseat so that she could watch videos while we traveled. This meant my delicious little Bobacita got to ride up front with me. I put a pillow on the middle console and he wedged his big butt in the front seat and rode mainly with his head in my lap.

Whenever repairmen were at the house he was always by my side. He would rarely let them pet him, which I found strange. Then one day one of those men pointed out to me that he was staying by my side to protect me. He would sit on my feet and not move while they were there. He never growled or became aggressive. He just very calmly sat beside me, watching this intruder I had let into the house. When I mentioned that I wasn’t sure he would ever actually attack, the man assured me, “Oh, if someone were trying to hurt you that dog would attack.”

When Cousinfucker left me it was my dogs that joined me in bed. They all kept me company and loved me when Cousinfucker did not. I spent many a night on the couch as well, surrounded by dogs. If Beau was on the section of the couch that had the powered recliner I would lean it back for him so he had a little more room.

Rock Star once accused me of loving Beau more than I loved the kids. I’m pretty sure I pointed out to her that he does not talk back and he’s not always asking me for something. I’m also pretty sure she wasn’t amused.

I don’t want to have to make this appointment. I don’t want to have to face this. I love this dog. But I also know he’s getting old. He’s 11, a few months shy of 12, and for a Boxer that’s incredibly old. You will sometimes hear of them living to be 12, 13, 14, but on average they live about 8 years. I spoke to a vet who told me anytime they have a Boxer over the age of 8 they always take special note of that because they just don’t tend to live much beyond that. That’s especially fantastic news because my second Boxer is 8 right now, soon to be 9.

He’s gone from about 95 pounds to maybe 50 pounds. He has trouble climbing the stairs and getting up on the couch. I go ahead of him now so that I can catch him if he stumbles and prevent him from tumbling down the stairs. He’s had at least two seizures that I know of. He’s got diarrhea (sorry about that. TMI, I’m sure.)

He doesn’t seem miserable. I feed him his regular dog food and then give him some wet stuff to try to put weight back on him. He still wags his tail and is willing to try counter surfing if given the chance. He still tries to get into the trash if he smells something delicious.

This pet ownership thing is tough. I’m not ready to say goodbye but I don’t want him to live in misery if he is indeed miserable. And I know this isn’t Cousinfucker’s fault. It’s not like the dog is dying of a broken heart. But still, this is yet one more thing he’s left me to deal with all by myself.