![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Last of the Drumgoole Girls
Oct. 24th, 2021 12:08 pmONCE upon a time, long before marriage and parenthood and life in Brooklyn, my wife lived in a little house on Drumgoole Road in Staten Island with her best friends in the world: her three dogs.
The three dogs were all female and bite-sized with white fur, each with her own personality. Tinkerbelle, the teacup poodle, was the eldest and the unquestioned leader and stern taskmaster of the group, growling at the other two if their hijinks got out of hand. Ruby, the Maltese, was the diva, playing dress up with Mommy and expressing general disdain (if not outright hostility) for anyone outside the family. Chloe, the miniature poodle, was the youngest in all the right ways--guileless and innocent and effortlessly loving and friendly.
Into this happy household came a suitor for Mommy, and he knew he had to win the approval of her three companions if the relationship was going to work. It took a while to win them over, but eventually, he wasn't "that guy" anymore--he was Daddy.
****************
After the wedding, they all moved to their new life in Brooklyn--but their time together in their new home was short-lived. Tinkerbelle died during that first winter in Brooklyn; the radiator broke down, and when the heat came back up, her heart couldn't take the change in temperature. (She was only 10 years old.)
Ruby strutted, preened and snarled at the world until she was 15. My wife and I were both in the vet's office and we let her go together. And now, this Thursday afternoon, Chloe--the last of the Drumgoole girls--died at the age of 16. The house is a little quieter, a little colder, a little less inviting. But life goes on. Fifteen years ago, the adventure started with one man surrounded by females; now, my wife is living in a home surrounded by men--a husband, a son, and a very moody cat.
Poor woman.
In our basement, there's a bulletin board with pictures of all three dogs in better days. Chloe has joined her sisters on the board, passing from the end of life into memory. This post is my small way of keeping that memory alive.
The three dogs were all female and bite-sized with white fur, each with her own personality. Tinkerbelle, the teacup poodle, was the eldest and the unquestioned leader and stern taskmaster of the group, growling at the other two if their hijinks got out of hand. Ruby, the Maltese, was the diva, playing dress up with Mommy and expressing general disdain (if not outright hostility) for anyone outside the family. Chloe, the miniature poodle, was the youngest in all the right ways--guileless and innocent and effortlessly loving and friendly.
Into this happy household came a suitor for Mommy, and he knew he had to win the approval of her three companions if the relationship was going to work. It took a while to win them over, but eventually, he wasn't "that guy" anymore--he was Daddy.
****************
After the wedding, they all moved to their new life in Brooklyn--but their time together in their new home was short-lived. Tinkerbelle died during that first winter in Brooklyn; the radiator broke down, and when the heat came back up, her heart couldn't take the change in temperature. (She was only 10 years old.)
Ruby strutted, preened and snarled at the world until she was 15. My wife and I were both in the vet's office and we let her go together. And now, this Thursday afternoon, Chloe--the last of the Drumgoole girls--died at the age of 16. The house is a little quieter, a little colder, a little less inviting. But life goes on. Fifteen years ago, the adventure started with one man surrounded by females; now, my wife is living in a home surrounded by men--a husband, a son, and a very moody cat.
Poor woman.
In our basement, there's a bulletin board with pictures of all three dogs in better days. Chloe has joined her sisters on the board, passing from the end of life into memory. This post is my small way of keeping that memory alive.
