MotherMorphosis

 (If you want to read the beginning first, it’s here .) I woke up in dread on the day my dog, Niles, crossed the rainbow bridge. I had gone to bed the night before knowing that the next day I was either going to discover that he had slipped away naturally or have to schedule an appointment with the vet to help him transition. Neither outcome was desirable. Needless to say, I had a crappy night’s sleep. I was up several times throughout the night to tiptoe past the front room where he slept, pausing in the doorway and squinting to see his ribcage rise and fall. He’s still with us, I thought to myself, as I had reported to my kids during the previous several days. “Can you give him some pets for me?” my middle asked. He lives and works more than an hour away in the next county. “I hope I get to see him…” said my oldest who lives farfaraway and is planning to come home for Christmas. Two years ago, Niles had experienced some sort of neurological episode that left him partially paralyz...

Here's a story from when I first adopted my pibble, in 2012. I am still working on part two, about how I had to make the decision to help him transition peacefully over "the rainbow bridge," (which occurred just yesterday.) *Update: here is part two . ### "What kind of dog is he?" "A brown one." This is the answer I started to give people when they asked me about my dog, Niles. I got tired of them recoiling in horror when I told them he's a pit bull, mere moments after they've pet him and told me how cute and well-mannered he is. It's what I told the nanny that works down the street,  who wrinkled her nose, sniffed, and pursed her lips when she commented in her exotic Slavic accent, "Heez ed. Eet iss soh beeg. Vy eez heez ed soh beeg? Vuht kindoff dohg eez e?" (When I really wanted to tell her, "Your mouth. It is so big. Why is your mouth so big? What kind of person are you?"). Most people don't even know what ...