He liked to kitchen dance. He loved his race car bed the most. He would never turn down anything to eat, except lettuce. He loved his crunchy cookies bought special for him.
Gizmo was killed August 2, 2011 around 1030 pm.
I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe I’ll never cuddle his body the way he likes, I’ll never get another ear lick and I’ll never watch him get so excited that he can’t sit still and does this whole body dance.
I can’t stop crying. I can barely breathe. I don’t know how to get through today. I don’t know how to live without a Gizmo.
He just turned four years old in June.
My heart is broken. It feels sore in my chest and sometimes I can’t catch my breath. It feels like my baby died. I feel responsible. I feel guilt and a grief so violent that it threatens to tear me into pieces.
Gizmo’s favorite toy is a rattle that he stole from James when my nephew James was a baby.
It doesn’t feel like someone took a limb, it feels like someone stole my soul. Gizmo was the most loving, kindness, sweetest baby boy, with not a single bad bone in his body. I feel like he was all the good things in the world. He was all the good things in me. All my good things are gone.
He has to sneeze at least four times before he can bark and he has to be very excited.
I have lost my child. There is a hole in my body and deeper into my spirit that will never quite heal. Losing him this way is devastating. I don’t feel broken apart, where I could put myself back together. I am unsalvageable. I will never be the same.
After two years Gizmo still can’t work the dog door.
Time is a great healer. I know this, but I don’t know how to get through this time. It hurts. It hurts so much and I don’t know what to do. I am completely lost and with no Gizmo to guide my way I don’t know how I’ll ever find the comfort of home again.
Gizmo loves to kitchen dance.
I look my age today. Maybe older. They say that happens when you survive a traumatic moment. I feel very old and broken down. I feel defeated. I am lost.
We were on our way home for a dog rescue meeting. All three pups in the Smart car heading towards home. Brent called and met me in the driveway. I parked in the barn like usual and he took Taz and Poco and started walking towards the house. We’ve done this off leash walk hundreds of times.
Gizmo hates to be outside. He loves the comfort of his soft bed and the safety of the house.
Gizmo was still in the car and I pulled out the stroller and put him in and started pushing it to the house, but he was very excited and wanted out to follow his big brother and big sister to the back door of the house.
Gizmo and Taz are a bonded pair and have been for at least two years.
At the last second a rabbit darted out from under the car and Poco, Taz and Gizmo gave chase. The rabbit darted right for the road. I called out to Taz who immediately stopped chasing and came back. I called to Poco, but he kept going. I called to Gizmo and couldn’t see him in the dark, but I could hear his bell.
We put a cat collar with a bell on Gizmo because sometimes you can’t find him right away even in the house.
I grabbed Taz and threw her in the house while Brent was chasing the boys. I heard it. Like a muffled popping sound, and I knew. I knew immediately without seeing and I ran across the lawn screaming “no. no. not Gizmo”. He never cried out once.
Gizmo hates to run. He hates grass, especially wet grass.
Gizmo was chasing his brother. Gizmo thought it was a game. Gizmo ran over grass and towards the road. These are all things Gizmo never does, except this one time.
Poco was still lose on the wrong side of the road and I saw him running over to us as we crouched over Gizmo’s lifeless body. I picked up Poco and handed him to Brent.
There was one car on the road. She stopped. She apologized. She cried too.
I gently pick up Gizmo and carried him cushioned against my chest into the house. I thanked the girl for stopping. I was part way across the lawn when I started talking. I was crying and saying things like “oh god no. no. no. not my baby Gizmo”. I think I repeated these words over and over again for an hour as we sat on the kitchen floor with our Gizmo for the last time.
Gizmo will never eat another one of his favorite heart shaped grain-free cookies.
Brent and I sat on the kitchen floor taking turns holding our dead puppy. At first we just held him and cried. Wailed. Uncontrollable, near fainting, hyperventilating, deep in the core of your soul grief. I stroked his head and his ears trying to make a memory of the texture. I looked at his face and watched his eyes for any sign of life. There was no pulse. There was limited signs of trauma.
Gizmo favorite place to sleep is next to the kibble.
Time got very weird as we sat on the kitchen floor. Sometimes I’d look at the clock and it hadn’t moved and other times I’d lose an hour. I don’t know how long we sat there petting Gizmo’s body willing it to come back to life. The reality has not set in.
Gizmo just got his therapy dog status.
Poco curled up right next to us on the floor and watched. He looked sad, but he almost always looks sad. Taz came over and sniffed Gizmo paw and then slunk away and didn’t come near us for the rest of the night. I think they were confused.
Gizmo’s bark sounds like he’s a heavy smoker. Gruff.
I begged Brent to bring him back to life. I struck the floor and yelled. I begged god to bring back my little dude. He was so good. So sweet. So wonderful. Please, please, please. I begged.
Gizmo just learned to lay down.
We got Gizmo’s favorite soft blue baby blanket and wrapped him up. We tucked his tail inside and I marveled at how soft and long his tail had gotten. He’d always had a lovely coat. We continued sitting on the floor taking turns holding our baby boy wrapped in a blanket until we could breathe.
Gizmo just got his teeth cleaned last week.
I ask Brent a question that we’re still asking. “What do we do?” Brent said through a sob: we put him to rest. The eruption of tears threatened to choke me. I was struck with a wave of denial, anger, rage, grief and sadness all at once. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t do anything but hold him tighter against my chest willing my heart beat to be his heart beat.
Gizmo had eye surgery over a year ago.
After a while neither of us decided to get up, but we did because it was time. Gizmo was no longer looking like our Gizmo. We were holding on to his body and his soul was gone. With heavy steps we walked to the backyard and prepared Gizmo’s grave.
Gizmo had allergies.
With the hole dug, we stood together shaking and holding our boy. I whispered “this can’t be happening” and Brent broke down for a few minutes. I was standing alone holding Gizmo for the last time.
Gizmo makes old man noises.
I whispered to Gizmo: “mommy loves you very much my baby boy and I hope you can forgive us for letting you down and not keeping you safe. We send all our love to get you to safely to heaven.”
Gizmo hates the rain.
Brent held Gizmo while I positioned his favorite bed in the grave. Brent stood crying and holding Gizmo for a long time. Saying his own good-byes. I took Gizmo from Brent and securely wrapped him in his baby blue soft blanket covering his face as I laid him in his bed.
Brent threw the first handful of dirt and we cried and hugged. “Let’s irish up this funeral” he said and we stumbled back to the house for a bottle or two.
Gizmo never goes near the road because he’s afraid of cars.
We came back out and finished burying our baby. I knew he was going to die before me, but I thought it would be on my terms. I thought it would be my choice. I thought it would be different.
Life is not fair. Life is often cruel. Life is often ended without anyone making a choice.
We miss our Gizmo and this will change our lives forever. How will we get through today?
The post I wrote prior to this one is called A Gizmo Moment and I had no idea he was going to die that night. I think the video is the same day.
Taz in mourning;