A Ring, a Crash, and a Pit Bull’s Smile

The hubby just reminded me about three things about this week. They are not Dirt or Frosting related. Sorry.

1. Sunday marked 6 years since Jay proposed.

It was at our housewarming party. We had just bought our first house and he wanted to have everyone over. In the middle of the party, he pulls me away from the group I was talking to so that he could make a toast/speech. He started going on and on about making a house a home (or something like that- it was middle of freaking July and beyond balls-hot outside. My brain must of been fried. Or I could have been a bit drunk. Who knows.) Then he gets down on one knee and pulls a ring out of his pocket and I called him a “fucking bastard” for making me cry in front of people.  Seriously, there’s video footage somewhere of it. Just like Cinderella and Prince Charming, huh?

The real fun happened later that night when I insisted on wearing the ring even though it was a size too small. Of course it got stuck. I panicked because the ring was made of freaking aircraft-grade titanium (what I wanted) and couldn’t be cut off if it was stuck on there forever cutting off my circulation. It took a lot of jewelry cleaner, ice water, and good ol’ brute force to get that thing back off and re-sized.

2. Monday marked 6 years since the very first car I bought was totalled.

Yep, the very next day after getting engaged, my silver 2005 Dodge Neon became the centerpiece of a 5-car pile-up on the NYS Thruway. It was super-fun. We had been on our way to an animal shelter to find a buddy for our pit bull (American Staffordshire Terrier if you want to be fancy about it,) Bishop. The traffic was stop-and-go as it always is around the Spring Valley exit. We were at a Stop. The guy in the Oldsmobile 2 cars behind us was still stuck on Go. Jay and I (and everyone else involved) had mild whiplash. Bishop, who was snoozing in the backseat, had his nap interrupted and gave me dirty looks while we waited on the side of the road for the police and tow truck.

3. Today marks 5 years since Bishop passed away.
Bishop

Bishop in Owls Head Park in Brooklyn. You’ve never seen a smile until you’ve seen a pit bull smile.

He was 14 years old, but never showed his age until the day before we had to put him down. He would run around the yard or the dog park like a cheetah with special needs, usually carrying the biggest tree limb he could find in the gaping maw he called his mouth. His hind legs ran faster than his front legs and his doggy lips flapped in the breeze, making him hilarious to watch. When he wasn’t running around, he was doing his best impression of a table lamp- just chilling on his bed until it was time to run again.

Suddenly, he had a really pronounced limp. I took him to the vet’s office where he usually walked around like he owned the joint, scamming cookies off the receptionists and vet techs. This time he laid down in the middle of the entryway and refused to get back up. Other patients had to walk around him. The x-rays taken that day showed a large tumor in his leg and another taking up so much room in his chest that it was a miracle his lungs were even working. He lay in Jay’s lap with me scratching behind his ears while the vet administered the dose that would take away his pain while also taking away the best dog either of us will ever have. Lightning Crashes by Live played in the car on our way home. It still makes me cry whenever I hear it.

A lot of memories this week. Some great, others not-so-great. But even the not-so-great ones can bring back more good ones. I know Jay and I will cry again over Bishop tonight, but then we will start laughing as we remember the time he farted so bad that he ran outside. Or the time he jumped in an elderly couple’s car (scaring the ever-loving crap about of them) because he wanted to go for a ride. Or the time we threw a stick into the woods to play fetch and he came back with a tree.

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