I released a new novel on April 1st of this year and was fired up and well into another. My goal is to turn out three novels this year . . .
Then, tragedy struck.
Our ten-year-old Boston Terrier, Chopper, fell off my daughter’s bed this past Saturday morning. He was experiencing a seizure. Although he recovered somewhat, he remained wobbly and confused . . .
He was still eating and drinking, all bodily functions normal (with support to keep him upright). But after he showed no real improvement, we took him to an Emergency clinic on Monday morning (why does this stuff always happen on a holiday weekend???). The vet found that his ears were inflamed and nasty. We hoped it was an inner ear infection and put him on antibiotics.
They warned us it could be something much, much more serious.
Sadly, less than 36 hours later, our little boy died peacefully in his sleep at my husband’s feet, in the same place he’d always loved to sleep since he was a pup. He most likely succumbed to a brain tumor.
Creative muses aren’t big on big emotionally taxing events like this. Mine is a freaking wimp. Even though I write ghost stories, and truly believe in an existence beyond this one, my muse flew the coop. She’s gone, the bitch. Kaput. Sayonara. I haven’t been able to write a word since the weekend.
So, pardon me, Soulies, if this is a short, sad, and not-so-enlightening blog post today. I came home from work yesterday to the task of laying our beloved furbaby to rest in our backyard. My grief is one thing, but my husband’s grief is excruciating.
I still work, and my husband is retired – home alone all day long. Chopper was his baby. His buddy. His bestie. His grief is all-consuming.
He swears “no more pets.” We all know better. So, I’m on the lookout for a potential Chopper II. Mini Boston Terrier, male. Has to come home to us at 8-9 weeks, like Chopper did. So he can bond with his new daddy.
Maybe after I heal the hole in our hearts with a new pup, my muse will consider returning . . .
I can only hope.