Nine days ago my best friend died.  Originally I planned to tell the whole story.  Tell you all how it was my fault.  How, I take all of the blame for it.  But, I'm afraid typing the whole story out will just tear me to shreds so…the short version, my five month old sweet little puppy Sparky was run over.  The worst part is that the person who hit him didn't call me.  They left him in the road to die over night.  WHAT IF HE COULD HAVE BEEN SAVED?  I am livid.  How dare you not call.  How dare you hit my dog and not take him to ER or call me or DO SOMETHING.

FUCK!

The next day some guy riding a bike saw him in the road, removed his collar, moved his body into a bush, rode home and called me.  Imagine making that phone call.  I had Codi sitting in my lap. I was out of town at Donner Lake and some guy has to call and tell me my dog is gone.  I put Codi down, he went awol about that and I walked outside.  I broke down.  I was shaking.  I just lost it.  I haven't broken down like that since my grandma died 11 years ago.  Rob and I drove home, got the body, wrapped it in his favorite blankets and put in him the freezer until the next day when we could have a little funeral.  We went to the guy and got the collar which is still in my purse.  We drove back to the lake and tried to have a good weekend with our kids.

Well, that isn't true.  The real story is, we drove down here, got the body and I drank an entire bottle of wine walking up and down my private road looking for my cat.  By the end I was tottering left and right not really walking straight.  We went back to the lake, and I went to bed.  I woke up hung over at 7pm, ate about 5 bites of food and went back to bed crying.  

I cried a lot.  

Brandon cried a lot too. Big huge sobs.  Screaming SPARKY SPARKY SPARKEEEEEEE over and over.  I had killed my sons dog.  This wasn't helping matters.  

So I did the only logical thing. I told them we would get a new puppy.  

Sunday when we were done at the lake instead of driving home to do laundry we drove all the way to another town and bought a new puppy.

Meet Charlie.

He is cute.  But he is not Sparky.  I bought all new leashes, collars, food dishes, everything.  I didn't want to share anything of Sparkys.  Fuck, when we got home I didn't even want him to go in Sparky's yard.  I couldn't go in the house forever.  He's a good puppy.  He is young, and he needs me and part of me needs him but, HE ISN'T SPARKY.  I'm trying hard not to compair them.  Not to look for differences.  But it is hard.  Sparky was potty trained.  Dog door trained.  He slept through the night.  He sat on command.  He sat if you just pointed one finger.  He ran with me.  He had just been groomed THE DAY HE DIED.  

Charlie is a menace.  He chews on stuff.  Bites me.  He's a holy terror.  But he makes me laugh and that is good, because laughing is better then crying right?  I miss Sparky.  I miss him to pieces.  I want my dog back.

I promise to commence happy fun blogging this week.  I promise. 

Just.  

Not tonight.

His bush.  Where he is buried.  He loved this bush.  He bounced in an out of it daily.  I can't even look at the bush right now.  But he is buried there.  With his bear, his shoe and his blankets.  The words are blurring into one now, so I'm going to go.  

Fuck this is hard.