R.I.P. Tutu

Years ago, my brother and I were driving through central Illinois and decided to drop in on our Grandma Carol at her favorite lunch spot. When we walked through the door, she caught sight of us and got so excited she spit chunks of tuna salad sandwich all over her booth mates.

This was the reaction Tutu gave every time she smelled me walking into a room. She’d paw at the ground and wiggle her butt and sometimes moan these little happy sounds. 100% of the time I would scoop her up and nuzzle her and explain in great detail why she was the best baby in the world.

As COVID dipped, wine stores opened, doggy daycare accepted blockheads and schools went back to in person, Tutu and I spent an unhealthy amount of time together. I carried her everywhere. When she wasn’t charming people on video conference calls, we were sneaking naps together in between meetings. All the while explaining why she was the best baby in the world. 

I would wake up at all hours of the night (see my previous post) to feed, cuddle, administer eye goop and explain again why she was the best baby in the world. She would return the favor by curling up in the crook of my arm and lick clean all the evil from my skin.

We knew she wasn’t long for the world even when we picked her up from the pound 32 weeks ago. She was covered in tumors and was blind and deaf and had lived a rough, rough life. But it was our goal to spoil her rotten for whatever time she had. And spoil her we did. Little pink sweaters. Obnoxiously expensive food. Plus, a general agreement that her little feet need never touch the ground. And, of course, my continuous explanation why she was the best baby in the world.

When I was alone would I occasionally sing directly into her head so she could feel the vibrations? Yes. Yes I would. 

Tutu had gotten tired over the last few weeks. Less interested in food. Often shaking like a leaf for no reason. But she never lost her cuddly, sweet, “Grandma Werewolf” personality.

Friday morning, I was nudging her towards her uneaten food when she collapsed in my arms. She was so scared. She howled as I held her tight. It's okay. It's okay. Eventually she calmed down but couldn’t stop shaking. 

I dressed her up in her very best pink and white turtleneck sweater and wrapped her in the little blanket she slept on at the pound and we went to the emergency vet.

Diana met me there and the doctor explained that if our goal was to give her the best life we could, it was better for this to be her last day than to have her heart give out in the next 48 hours. 

They brought her in to say goodbye and she lit up. Her little tail wagging. It was the man! I held her and began to weep. I cried so hard I thought my eyeballs would pop out of my head. I blubbered my final explanation why she was the best baby in the world. She was the best baby. She was my special, special girl and she was my favorite baby. My baby. My itty bitty baby. My Tutu.

I'll miss you, gal.