mastel's moku: January 2014

Every year, we always designate the last weekend in January as Trogstad Christmas. This gives everyone time to settle down from the actual holidays, and not feel so rushed and busy with other things going on. We have been doing this for at least six years now, always going up to a resort in Northern Minnesota. On my dad's side of the family, I have two uncles, two boy cousins who are around 17 years old, a grandma (who brings her sister with her everywhere.. which I love), and both of my uncle's girlfriends. So needless to say, it's a small family gathering when we do get together (and surprisingly, we haven't had every person show up to be together for at least 3 years now).

We drive up Saturday morning (Friday evening if we can make it work), unpack our bags, either do outdoor activities or swim in the pool .. if there is one, eat a big dinner, play a card game that my Uncle Doug always comes up with and brings the gifts for, and then play some other games, have a Nerf gun war until we get yelled at, hit the sack, eat breakfast, then head home. It's an incredibly quick weekend, and I wish so badly we could make it longer. But it makes the weekend that much more memorable, as we are trying to pack as many conversations and activities into those two days as possible.

This year, instead of having a Nerf gun war, we exhausted ourselves with the iphone app game, "Heads Up." It was hilarious and lasted over an hour. There was no pool at this new resort we were trying out, so instead of swimming, we hauled up four snowmobiles and went trail riding for a few hours. I have grown up snowmobile-riding, but have never gone actual trail-riding. It was a blast! Being deep down in the woods, with no one else around you, is so beautiful and peaceful. That is, until one of your snowmobiles decides it wants to turn off on us. Luckily, Uncle Doug is a superhero and got it running long enough to make the trek back to our cabin site. I wish I could have taken pictures of how beautiful the trees and snow were. Now that I know how gorgeous it is, I'll have to bring a camera next time. But I did manage to snap some other photos of the short-lasted weekend...

Chelsey and Jeffrey just doing some tripods before we hit the trails.

Onesies make perfect outdoor apparel. Want one? Get it here.

The whole crew ready to ride!

Skyping with the people missing out.

This years' gifts for Doug's annual game included Powerball tickets !!! (nobody won)

I got the phone call on Sunday night. I knew right away when I saw the incoming call read "dad." He wouldn't call me late Sunday night for no reason, and the tone in his voice told me that he was about to tell me something that he didn't want to say. He didn't have to. I already knew. But I didn't stop him, because I didn't want to believe it. So I let him tell me... "we have scheduled a vet appointment for Malibu, tomorrow night at 6:30."

I didn't think I could be so attached to an animal. He would have been 11 years old on February 2nd. So, I guess that's a good chunk of my life that he was around for. Of course I distanced myself during college, but because I lived at home for a year-and-a-half after college, I made a lot of fresh memories with that furball.

I'll never forget Easter Sunday in 2003. (By this time, we had already been begging and pleading for a dog. My brother was in 10th grade, I was in 8th, and my sister in 7th. So we were definitely ready for a pup.) Dad was reading the newspaper and made the comment that there was an ad for puppies. He said he would call and see if we could go that day, but if the place looked poor and proposed any instinct of unhealthy puppies for sale, we would not be getting one. Later that evening, we drove to a gravel driveway and ended up at a small house, with a big yard that had broken down cars and car parts all over. Needless to say, it wasn't the most appealing. Our hopes were being dropped before we even saw the animals. As we walked up, a friendly lady greeted us at the door. There was a small gated off area right next to the entryway, filled with 6 or so puppies. And there was Malibu, totally black and tiny and adorable. All of us, including dad, fell in love and couldn't back down. We brought him back to the house and I'm pretty sure he had to sleep in a box the first night, so we were not at all prepared to have become dog owners that Easter day.

Now it's almost 11 years later, which have been filled with many dog-owner memories.

When we lived at the lake house, Malibu would sometimes get out of the house, and would charge down the hill towards the lake, and down about four houses. Us kids would run, screaming 'TREAT' after him. And when we would catch up to him, we would scold him and he would freeze in his tracks and lay down, knowing he was not supposed to be outside without a leash.

One evening I thought he had escaped because nobody was watching him and the front door blew open a little in the wind. I ran to the living room where my mom was playing piano and told her I'm pretty sure Malibu had just ran outside. Mom called the neighbors and let them know to be on the lookout (it was pitch-black outside), and we hopped in the car. I had my window rolled down, yelling "Malibu! Treat!" My heart was racing and my head was spinning as we got back home and walked inside, not knowing what to do next. I'm pretty sure I made the decision to call a search-and-rescue team and I would commit the rest of my life looking for that dog. I ran around the house, making sure he really wasn't anywhere inside. I walked downstairs, into my bedroom, and there he was... with my garbage can tipped over and scavenging on trash. That dog...

Malibu used to be able to be out of his kennel when we would leave the house, but after a year or so, he started peeing and pooping inside, so we had to 'cage' him while we were out of the house. I always felt so bad, and would skip out on events, just so he wouldn't have to sit inside that thing.

One Halloween (I was probably in 10th or 11th grade), I bought him a Superman costume and brought him with me to a friend's Halloween party. That wasn't a very good idea. I mean.. he looked adorable. But he was not a fan of the outfit and all of the people. I thought it was fun. And hilarious. Even if I did have to hold him the entire time. I didn't find out until this past summer that my mom had donated the costume to a thrift store. And all these years, I had been looking for that cute outfit to have him wear again.

Most of my memories are from the past couple of years, which is really why I feel like I'm so sad. I told Malibu stories, and he would keep me company while I was house-sitting. It's like he was a person sometimes - he had a serious attitude problem, but was also a cuddly puppy when he wanted to be.

I'll always remember when mom and dad would leave the house for the weekend and I would turn around and find him standing on the kitchen table. It was like he knew they were gone and just wanted to rebel and get crazy.

I'll also never forget the day after my brother's wedding - we had a ton of family and friends over for food, and Malibu found his way out on the deck where nobody else was. Chase walked out there and found Malibu 'seizuring' next to the garbage bag. Chase ran inside, yelling that Malibu was having a seizure, we started walking out as Malibu came running inside and I picked him up. Someone yelled and told me to set him down if he is actually having a seizure. As soon as I set him down, he started hacking and out came a full meatball. He wasn't having a seizure - he was choking and I think I had just given him the Heimlich maneuver. I almost died I was shaking and so scared.

While I was living at home after college, Malibu would scratch on my bedroom door every single morning, while my parents were getting ready for work, to come and snuggle/sleep with me until I had to get up. I think that's what I'll miss the most... the comfort. Malibu was comfortable, cozy, and made my parent's house feel like 'home.'

Malibu LOVED the sun. He would find any sun spot he could and bask in it as long as we let him. His favorite spot was the top of the couch - he could stare out at the animals and activity in the backyard. He would go nuts over birds, squirrels, chipmunks, and any other creature that moved. Malibu loved walks. My mom would put on her white socks, and he knew that it was go-time. You didn't even have to say the word. He cried during car rides, but still got excited when you would say the words. And he loved Cheerio's. You would walk into the kitchen, open the cereal cupboard, and he was instantly begging at your feet. And seriously, how could I resist from handing over a handful with that cute face staring up at me? Overall, he was a momma's boy. He loved my mom so much. He was her shadow.

Yesterday was hard. I didn't get much sleep Sunday night, waking up all throughout the night with migraines and a wet tear-covered face. My morning alarm went off and I considered calling in sick. But I got up anyways. I put on my make-up .. tried to cover up my huge puffy eyelids and went to work. This is when I realized it would be hard, sometimes, working for my dad... I couldn't make eye contact with him. We drove home to lunch and I tried talking, but instead burst out crying. It was hard. It was my last time going home to spend lunch with Malibu. We cuddled and I fed him part of my lunch. And I considered, again, just taking sick hours for the rest of the day. But I, again, went back to work. I did call in for my swim lessons, so I could be with my parents during the appointment. I went home after work and spent Malibu's last couple of hours in tears and cuddling. Dad, mom, and I just sat around.. they did their typical after-work routine (ipad games and the TV news). And, of course, I fed him double the amount of treats he usually gets and laid out handfuls of Cheerio's for him to devour. 6 o' clock rolled around and we didn't want to 'wait' any longer. We all just kind of stood up at once, without saying anything, bundled up and left. I cried... the whole drive there. I was able to carry him into the vet. I don't think I'll ever forget that walk. I was first to walk in, carrying Malibu, sobbing. I couldn't say anything. Mom walked up behind me and uttered the name, "Malibu." We probably didn't need to say anything.. I don't think it's typical for people to walk in clutching their pet, crying. The receptionist took us to a private room, and let us know someone would be with us in a minute. There was a fleece Vikings blanket laying on the table. I suppose to make him feel a little more comfortable.. I held onto Malibu for as long as I could. It hurt. I have never before felt so much pain inside from being so sad. My collarbone hurt. I felt like I was going to collapse or throw up, my head was spinning as I was trying to hang on to every moment .. every moment Malibu would take a breath or move. Not much long after the receptionist left, a nurse came in to explain the procedure. We opted to stay and be with Malibu until he left this world. He was first sedated, so we could hold him, talk to him, see him blink, see and feel him breathe. The nurse asked if we wanted some time, or if the vet should come in right away. We said to just come in. We are never going to be 'ready,' so time would just make us more exhausted. Those were the moments that I wanted to last forever. I was hanging on to every second that I could see him blink and feel him breathe. It was silent. I could hear my heart pounding. I wanted to freeze time. I wanted to see Malibu stand up and dance. Or do anything to let us know that he was actually all okay and this was just a joke. The vet then came in and explained how Malibu put up a good fight (yea.. don't they all?) But then he went on to tell us that Malibu basically needed a whole new digestive system. (exhale... we were doing the right thing). And then the overdose of anesthesia was put in through an IV. After a few seconds, the vet put the stethoscope to Malibu's chest and said, "he's gone." The vet choked back tears and walked out of the room, letting us know we could take as long as we needed.

It was calm. it was peaceful. it was pain-free.

Dad, mom, and I went back to their house and sat in the living. We shared stories of Malibu. Of when we first got him.. stories that we had kept secret... stories that brought our family together, which we will hang on to forever.

Malibu didn't get hit by a car. He isn't lost running in the woods, leaving us to worry if he is okay or being eaten by wolves. We were there. We helped him make the decision to let go and be happy. My sister-in-law is a vet and has the special heart and mind to be the leader in these types of situations. She once explained to us that sometimes people will pay for medicine and operations to try to make their animal last longer, so they don't have to deal with the pet not being there. But she explained how it's just hurting the pet more. I didn't want to see Malibu hurting any more.

I loved that dog. More than I could have ever imagined loving an animal. And every once in a while I would think about how he is a dog and I knew I would have to witness this time. It's why I don't want another dog. I don't want to be put through that pain again. I will miss him too much.

Animals carry expectations. It was hard going home the next day for lunch. I rushed inside, expecting Malibu to be waiting in his kennel for me to let him outside to go potty. I expect to hear his nails clicking on the wood floor. I'm sure the next time I hear a doorbell, I'll expect him to bark. I open a bag of food, and expect him to be begging at my feet. I look at the back of the couch, and expect him to be there, looking at our backyard.

That nasty, cruel c-word disease. (cancer). Malibu was very sick. He had the stomach the size of a basketball - it looked like he had ten babies in there. And it was hot. But from the steroids he was taking, the rest of his body was so skinny - fragile and bony. He could barely bark, and struggled with getting out of his kennel because of the couple of inches of the frame that he had to step over. Steps and jumping up on the couch weren't even considered. He would just sit and wait for you to pick him up. He didn't wag his tail. Didn't perk his ears. And he would tremor - which we soon found out that it was him hiding his pain. We will always wonder if we waited too long. But we let him go to a happy place, and that's what matters. One day we will see him, again, in heaven. Now all we have to wait for is the tears to stop running.

We will love you and miss you, Malibu. And we will never replace you or forget you. I'll never forget your cute lion-face, teaching you how to stick out your tongue, or all of the mischief and worry you gave me. You will always be our boosy, boos, boo, and puppy.

RIP Malibu.