- (no subject)
- January 5th, 2006
My mom told me this morning, "Tiggy's not doing well." and I every time I think about him I cry. That's my baby. Tiger's my baby boy. I'm barely over the Ding, I need that Tiger.
Back in May when Tiger was knocking on death's door but recovered... the Ding was there for me. She seemed to be spending more time with me and kind of causing a stir so that we wouldn't obsess over Tiger and I feel like Tiger was there for me when the Ding wasn't doing well. I think Coffee's here for me now. He definitely is spending way more time with me than ever before and Erika, too, surprisingly.
I know that Tiggy can't live forever but I don't like how my Dad, my NaNa and my Mom (actually the animal communicator) have all told me. I don't like to hear it. It doesn't make it any less hard but I don't like to hear about it.
I hate hearing about dogs that live to like 16 or 18 because it's not fair that Ding died at 11 and it looks like Tiggy won't make 13. It's the curse of large pure breeds. Mutts and small dogs live longer. Tiggy and the Ding had two strikes. Actually the Ding had three strikes because of her pancreas or four strikes: pancreas and an incontrollable appetite.
I think what makes me saddest about the Ding is that she only had like 2 or 3 years with us. The Missam and Coffee have been with us for 6 and Tiggy for like 4 or 5 and I just feel like there was so much more I could've done with and for the Ding. Like I threw Tiger a birthday party... I never got to throw one for the Ding. And Coffee, Erika and Tiger got their pictures done and the Ding never got that.
I have all this stuff to do but I'm so distracted. I just hope that the Ding knew how much I loved her and how much I enjoyed having her around.
Crying in school isn't doing me a bit of good, is it? Oh well, I'll do my reading now, I guess.