A year after getting married, my husband and I started to practice the idea of "settling down."  We purchased a teeny tiny bungalow from a sheriff's auction in South Euclid and painted the front door a vibrant red. We played house all spring remodeling every nook and when summer arrived we asked each other, "What's next?"

"Do you want to have kids?"

"Not yet."

"Do you want to travel?"

"We are house poor."

We had just purchased our first home together and were not ready to fill it with children.  So my dog loving husband convinced me (the-not-so-much-an-animal-lover-at-all) that the first step in filling our new home should be with the purchase of a dog.

"Let's get a dog. Okay?"

"Ewww.  A dog?  But, they drool."

I have always disliked dogs, often asking people to lock their own dogs up before I entered their homes.  However, I found myself a year after marriage apprehensively welcoming Murphy into our starter home.  We were DINKs with a dachshund.  People flocked towards us on walks with Murphy in downtown Cleveland.  We dined late on Saturdays with him asleep at our feet and woke up even later on Sunday mornings with Murphy wagging his tail. Then came Jay. Shortly thereafter, Lola followed. And suddenly, Murphy was no longer the king of the castle. I never cared for Murphy as much as my husband did and Murphy kept moving down the totem pole with each child.  Until Feenie, the third child, arrived.

Murphy slept beside Feenie's bassinet, rocker, car seat and every other baby device from the first day she came home.  Perhaps I never realized him doing the same with the other two as they were born so close together and I was often too frazzled to notice.  But I did witness Murphy yelping under Feenie's bassinet one night.  It was the night that I obsereved my one-week-old-baby having seizures that landed us in the hospital for a week.  The worst week of my life.  Side note: my MIL isn't doing so well and is refusing any condolences at the hospital where she will be for one week as the cancer has filled her bones and she awaits her hip replacement. I hated telling my family that my week stay at the hospital with a newborn was only routine and I confidently refused any sentiments.  One of the biggest regrets in my life was not crying out for help that week.  I still have nightmares feeling so alone w/o any support.  I plan on cooking a lot of foods this week for her and visiting. If you are family/friends reading this now and you know our last name...  she's staying at the Cleveland Clinic on Wednesday for a week.  I beg you to send a card.  Or something.

The point is that Feenie and Murphy have a super duper special relationship that warms my non-dog-loving heart.  This video makes me laugh out loud and this photo makes my heart smile.  I wish I had adequate MIL footage but she refuses to be documented while sick.  Murphy, the dog has no say, is sick. His back is out again for the second time in his ten years. He's curled himself in a ball.  And all the naked Barbies in the world will not perk anyone up, much to Feenie's dismay.

It's the first time in my motherhood that I've had to explain real pain to my children.  And.  It cussing sucks.

The pain that their beloved grandmother feels battling cancer every single day and the stupid dog that I hate saying I have feelings for, I hate it all.  Explaining to a three-year-old that the two most important influences in her life are in pain just sucks.