My vacation begins soon, and I wish we were returning to London, or something along those lines. Instead, I’ll be holed-up at the library, pounding out the first draft of my next book. Yeah, it’s not exactly a European adventure, but I’m still excited. I think the book is going to be a lot of fun, and I’m looking forward to getting the project underway.
But, while I was driving yesterday, I started feeling mildly guilty that it’s not a family affair. It’s just going to be me and my laptop and a bunch of strangers who believe they’ve lived long enough to earn them the right to shout-talk about their press-on replacement hips in a public library. Oh well.
After the sadness evaporated, I began thinking about family vacations from my childhood. We almost always went to Myrtle Beach, and occasionally Daytona, Florida. Pretty much every year. There weren’t too many surprises, but that was OK. I have fond memories.
One summer, however, we did something completely off the wall. I’m sure my mother cooked it up, and it turned out to be the most memorable and fun vacation of ’em all. We drove north, instead of south. Pretty radical, huh?
I was probably 13 or 14 at the time, and I believe we were traveling in a gigantic green station wagon, with wood-themed contact paper on the sides. Just like the Griswolds. And I’ll now briefly tell you about some of the highlights from that trip…
We saw a baseball game at Three Rivers Stadium, but I can’t remember much about it. It was the Pirates, and a team other than the Reds. That’s the best I can do. Three Rivers was one of those round, multi-purpose stadiums that were all the rage in the ’70s. Fairly boring, and bloodless… But it was another ballpark scratched off my list. I had a goal of visiting them all, which I still haven’t achieved — thirty years later. In fact, most of the baseball stadiums I’ve visited no longer exist. Including Three Rivers.
We also went to New York City, when it was really filthy and crime-ridden. That was pretty cool! I remember walking through Times Square with my parents and brother, completely surrounded by live sex shops and jack-off parlors. A person handed me a flier at one point, and it featured a topless woman who was either in the throes of sexual ecstasy, or suffering a stroke. My mom snatched that piece of paper out of my hands so fast, it was like a cobra strike…
I remember a huge-ass billboard for the movie A Bridge Too Far, and I recall riding past CBGB’s on a bus tour. The whole city was grimy and menacing, and that’s no exaggeration. It’s completely different nowadays, and I consider it an improvement. But I liked the 1977 New York, too.
My parents, however… NOT impressed. My brother and I lobbied hard to see a game at Yankee Stadium, and my folks said, “There is no way in hell we’re going to be walking around the Bronx after dark.” And that, as they say, was that.
We did, however, visit Cooperstown and the Baseball Hall of Fame. And man, that was a pure religious experience for me. I was at the height of my baseball mania, and I was literally shaking with excitement while we walked through that place. It was cool as hell.
I remember a telephone receiver which you could hold to your ear, and listen to a recorded message from Babe Ruth. Wonder why they don’t have that anymore?? It was cool. And I recall getting a big kick out of sitting in the various defunct stadium seats, like the Polo Grounds and Ebbets Field. I still love that part of it, although I can barely squeeze my ass cheeks between the armrests at this point.
Down the street was a shop that carried old baseball memorabilia, and I accidentally ripped the cover off a game program from the 1940s. The shop owner heard the ripping noise, and flew off the handle. I was mortified. I still get butterflies in my stomach, when I think about it. My parents offered to pay for it, but he just waved us out of the store, with disgust. Horrible.
After Cooperstown we went to Niagara Falls, and rode a boat that goes behind the water somehow. They made us wear stank-ass raincoats that a million strangers had worn before us. Mine smelled like armpits and onion rings. I remember being mildly alarmed on that boat ride, but can’t pinpoint the source of my anxiety.
Afterward, we went across the border into Canada, and it was a straight-up tourist trap. There were wax museums and Ripley’s Believe or Not, and all sorts of touristy crapola. We wanted to spend the night there, and chose a motel that looked OK from the road. But it turned out to be a shithole.
Our room was filthy, and there were bugs in the bathroom. The carpet looked like it hadn’t been vacuumed since the Kennedy administration, and there was a fake painting of “Blue Boy” above the bed — with one eye missing. It appeared someone had shot it out with a BB gun. WTF?
My brother and I began howling in protest, and my dad got really mad at us. Basically calling us spoiled fancy-lads, and that sort of thing… He was furious, which is not the way he rolls. He’s one of the most laid-back people I know. The two of us went down to the pool, to check it out and also get away from all the weird tension we’d apparently triggered.
At the pool were a bunch of kids, and within minutes there was a turd in the water. Everyone began squealing and racing up the ladders, and there was a big ol’ log floating around. What the hell, man?? Did it travel down somebody’s swimming trunks leg? I don’t even know how something like that could happen.
I remember a kid on the sidewalk, on all fours, examining the turd and commenting on it. At one point he began shouting, “She’s breaking up! She’s breaking up!!” Which was a reference to the opening credits of The Six Million Dollar Man. Good stuff.
Back in the room my dad had settled down a little, but it still wasn’t good. We sat, and nobody spoke for a long time. Then he said, “If you boys see that Coke can start moving, try to catch it.” We looked over and there was a table, attached to the wall, which was radically out of level. It looked like someone had sat on it at one point, and the Coke was hanging on for dear life.
That bit of levity relieved the pressure, and everything was OK after that. But I knew better than to complain about the roach I saw while taking a shower. I just kept that to myself, even though it gave me the freaking heebie-jeebies.
One of our final stops (I might have the chronology slightly out of order), was Boston and a night game at Fenway Park. We rode the subway there, which was a new experience for all of us. It was fairly intimidating — completely packed, with people mashed against me on all sides.
But Fenway was amazing. One of the most memorable moments of my life was when we walked out of the tunnel, and emerged inside the stadium itself. The green grass… that iconic left field wall… Yaz(!) warming up in right… It was a feeling I’ll never forget. I had a giant lump in my throat that lasted through five innings at least.
The city of Boston was great, too. I loved it there. I think I announced that I’d be living there someday. Yeah, and I’ve never been back… And so it goes.
That was the most memorable family vacation of my youth. When I think about it now, I realize it must have cost a fortune. Holy shit nodules! But it was certainly a great time.
The Question of the Day is predictable. In the comments section, please tell us about your most memorable vacation as a kid. Or as an adult… I don’t care. If you have a good story, we’d like to hear it.
And I’m going to work now. Two more nights and I’m free for ten whole days!
See you guys tomorrow.
Now playing in the bunker
Treat yourself to something cool at Amazon.
We didn’t have vacations when i was a kid. Now that I’m all growed up, the wife and I take separate vacations, so it’s not a family thing.
Of my individual vacations I think the one where I drove from Mexico to Canada and back with no particualr timeline or goal in mind was a really good one.
Vacations as a kid were memorable for one reason, and one reason only: they all sucked.
As an adult, I took my daughter to Mammoth Caves in Kentucky, and let me tell you, that was FUN. One of the cheapest vacations ever, and yet the most fun we had.
A week in Aruba on a 185 foot sailboat during one of the few hurricanes they’ve ever had was probably one of the best trips I’ve ever been on with the family. We all stayed drunk and just partied the night away while the crew took care of keeping us out of a category 5 hurricane (Ivan) that did a whole bunch of damage and created some 20+ foot waves for us to ride out on the boat. Great trip, even if the weather didn’t cooperate.
My wife really like her recent trip to Boston/NYC.
She really enjoyed something about some sort of pudding pie.
We only took one big family vacation, to Disney World.
Otherwise we spent a day at an amusement park, but not the real good ones, places like Fantasy Farm that had a 12′ tall roller coaster but all the goats and sheep you could pet.
I never went anywhere outside of the state when I was a kid. I’ve made up for that as I have grown older.
And another thing:
I always thought taco shellse should be in the bread department, with all the other sandwich containment units.
That’s all a taco is, a strange vaginal-type sandwich mechanism.
I don’t think I care for the races of food sections that are jammed into the spice aisle. Why does “Mexican” have it’s own section next the the rice? Why does “Asian/oriental” have segrigated shelf space across from the Mrs. Dash?
I’m ashamed to admit, when you said “vaginal-type sandwich mechanism” I couldn’t help but think the shredded lettuce was the bush.
I like my tacos without lettuce.
Betcha like cheese though!
Hell yeah, what about the cheese?
I’ve gotten spoiled. The only time I want the carpet to match the drapes is when it’s a bald woman.
I’d skip the mayo.
This is all very gross.
Most memorable? Well, for a number of years 176 – maybe 81 or so we always rented a house on the Jersey Shore. But it was my family (all 8 of us) and my aunt’s famly (6 of them) crammed into 1 gigantic house. My uncle had passed away VERY YOUNG (he was 41) so my dad included them every year. It was always friggin’ mayhem but the BEST times of my life.
Another that pops out – my dad had to go to Boston on a business trip and for reasons I can’t fathom, he took us all. I may have been 7 years old. It was early April and for whatever reason, something was going on in Hyannis and we could NOT find a hotel/motel room anywhere. Dad droe from place to place and as he got out of the car at an office we’d yell “Make sure they have an indoor pool!” because that was the height of the trip for us.
We finally found a place but this was back in the day when stores closed early so we had Clark Bars and Ring Dings for dinner – it was all my parents could find. Naturally, we thought we DIED and went to heaven.
1977 NYC? That was the Blackout, Son of Sam, Elvis dying AND when NYC was on the verge of bankruptcy. I miss those seedy days. Times Square lost its edge. I want to see neon BEASTIALITY signs. Not some goddamn JLo wax figure at Madam Trusseau’s.
My dad was employed at CUNY (Brooklyn College) in those days, and I remember him going off to participate in some kind of March On City Hall.
The other blackout was in, I think, 1965. My mom was on the subway when the power went out, and ended up walking through the tunnel with a lot of fellow passengers. We huddled around the gas stove to stay warm.
And because this is what I grew up with, I still consider such things to be normal.
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Hey! I went to school at Cuny/Baruch (NYC).
My most memorable would have to be our trip to Germany right after 9/11/01. We stayed in the little village that my wife was from and met a girl who was about 25 or so. She was acting weird (the girl), she inquired about me being from America, laughed at one of my shitty jokes, then shrugged when we said we’d see her the next morning. The next morning the church bell was leaning on the horn LOUD and everyone was coming out to see what happened. Turns out my little 25 year old friend hung herself in the wee hours of the morning. Creepy.
Something called “Fastnacht” or “Fasching” had just kicked off, so everyone was walking around in Halloween type costumes.
I found a guy sorta like me (some guy named Reinhart), and we decided to stay drunk the rest of the time. I could always find him at a little Biergarten, no matter what time of day it was.
I was struck by how stuck in the 1980s these people were (the clothing, the music, cigarette machines, etc) and EVERYTHING they drank was carbinated or they weren’t interested.
Oldest brother took me and my next-oldest brother ‘out West’ (as we called it) with him in 1972. I was 9 years old (Tim was 10). He drove us up to the top of Pike’s Peak, and took us hiking to the bottom of the Grand Canyon (without mentioning there was no escalator back out of the damned thing). Also saw Zion, Bryce, Canyonlands, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado National Monument; Black Canyon of the Gunnison, Big Rock Candy Mountains, Flaming Gorge, Yellowstone and the Tetons. Took us digging geodes in Dugway Proving Ground in Utah. Abandoned us for two nights in Ephraim Utah while he was over fucking the Mormon girlfriend he’d met during geology camp the previous summer. He wound up marrying a different Mormon woman.
Anyway, that’s a LOT to digest when you’re 9.
Holy Fish Sticks – that sounds like the best trip ever! I’m jealous!
At times it felt like a hostage situation.
Dugway sucks.
That it did. Plus – there was an Army unit out there on maneuvers the next day, kicking up all this dust (probably radioactive; that’d be my luck).
Only family vacations I can remember involved 5 of us crammed into a car for days on end. I can’t even remember the destinations, just the cramming. Which may explain why this old, shaved, tattoo’d biker owns a minivan.
Hey Jeff, you can enjoy another trip to London, even Paris and Stratford on the cheap…
Head on up North back into Canada.
Since you are into baseball, we got Canadas best Baseball park (as voted by the masses, or it came in 2nd to Vancouvers… I don’t remember…) here in London, and its the oldest continuously operating baseball park in the world apparently. And hey, you can get the complete london experience as we got our very own Thames River running through.
We got Labatt’s Brewery that you can tour if you like beer, granted its big industry brewery but its hobby related. I think you mentioned once or twice in the past you like beer. =-)
And theres Canadas Baseball Hall of Fame in St. Mary’s 20 minutes to the north/north east. And Stratford a few minutes down the road from there for the Stratford Festival if Toni is into that sort of thing.
Hell, you can go full Euro vacation as Paris Ontario isn’t much further away either… I hear though, the Eifel Tower isn’t what it’s hyped up to be…
We took a long driving vacation to Canada when I was a kid – maybe two separate ones? I recall Ottawa as being the most amazingly clean city I’d ever seen (this was in the early 1970s). We visited Montreal, with its astounding rubber-tired subway, to which I still need to return in order to experience the legendary Poutine. Later I developed a taste for Brador :^)
My dad was a professor of French literature. He always got that “you’re obviously a native speaker but you’re not from around here”, like what an American might think on meeting a South African for the first time. In Quebec they thought Dad was from France; in France they thought he was Belgian. In fact, he’s from Queens.
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Your dad likely spoke proper french, Those queebeckers speak a bastardized version of it. =-)
So many, and so good. Weirdest torture/vacation was in 1967 when my old man took a couple months off work, put a shell on the back of his pickup, hitched up the camping trailer…and our family of Dad, Mom, and 5 kids were off from Seattle to Fairbanks, Alaska on the Alaska Highway. In reality, it was probably a motorized version of the “Bataan Death March,” but 40 some years later it seems like a good time.
As a parent now, I think the best was last Christmas. Flew from Nome, AK to Chicago, then drove down to visit relatives in Indiana. Then back to Chicago, two nights at the Drake hotel, took the teen girls shopping, and saw the Nutcracker.
From Chicago, it was onto the California Zephyr Amtrak train to San Francisco. We spent Christmas on the train, and my youngest daughter worked hard, cutting out paper Christmas trees which she taped to the windows of each of our sleeper cars.
In SF, stayed at the Stanford, right next to the Mark Hopkins, and across the street from the Fairmont up on Nob Hill. Didn’t do a whole lot for two days, but did get to visit my nephew and his family.
Best part was leaving…we were going to get a cab out to the airport, but this really cool doorman said, “If you’d like, I can get you a limo for the same price as a cab.” My youngest daughter thought she was Barbie as we rode out to the airport.
…and as much as this may sound as if I’m living the Life of Riley, if you do some research, book in advance, and are a bit flexible, it really is not all that expensive.
P.S. My daughters think I’m a dick for not ever taking them camping. Hey, at least at the Drake we had two bathrooms. Compare that to being stuck with your brothers and sisters in the back of a pickup truck going up a 2000 mile gravel road and having to pee…while your psychotic father just had to “make a few more miles!”
We had the same dad? Except we had a car. Still had to wait til near bladder burst before he’d stop.
We had an empty Cool Whip container for those occasions when Dad would say, “No, we’re not stopping.” A traumatic situation for nearly all involved. To this day I can’t eat Cool Whip.
Most memorable family vacation was going to Yellowstone for two weeks with my grandparents across the country in a pick up with a camper shell and no AC. I rode in the back about 80% of the way. Now that would get the adults arrested and the children put in foster care, but then it seemed like perfect logic. My grandmother had purchased about 3 lbs of bologna, a couple of loaves of bread, and a jar of mustard, and this was supposed to be our lunch every day. I finally rebelled and began eating nothing but mustard on bread. I’m surprised I didn’t get scurvy. My grandparents took me all over the US during my childhood, and it was always interesting and fun.
My most vivid non-family vacation memory was a spring break trip with my best friend in high school. I’m as Southern as they come, and her family was from Jersey. I loved her family, they were like my second parents, and as I had been an only child until I was 13, I enjoyed fighting with her siblings. So two adults and four kids piled into a station wagon (again, no seat belts) and drove from Georgia to NJ. I was fascinated by her large Yankee Irish/Italian family, and they were equally fascinated by me. We went to NJ, NH, Vermont, and spent 1day in NYC. And then we all got bronchitis and the trip home was like being in a rolling TB ward.
When I was pregnant, my husband and I went to Smoky Mountain National Park, and he just had to see some elk in a remote valley that could only be reached by a one-lane dirt road. After a 1 1/2 long trip over bumpy roads I had to pee like a racehorse and I was contracting every 5 minutes. I had visions of delivering my own premature baby in the middle of nowhere just because he felt like he had to see some damn overgrown deer. I said words that would make a Marine do a double-take and threatened him several times with a home-crafted vasectomy.
My family was never big on vacations growing up. A day on lake Erie was the big summer treat. One yearin the 70’s we went to Virginia beach and met a family from Canada with kids our age. Both folks hit it off and they still keep in touch today. We visited them in Toronto 5 years later and then a few years later they came to the states for a week.
We went on very few vacations when I was a kid. My dad was self employed, and a farmer, so there were no vacation days.
We did go to Disney World twice: 1983 and 1993. Those were entertaining trips. I was 6 and 16. As a teenager I was mad because we left my boyfriend t home. My oldest sister was days away from giving birth, so mom called her every night. She was pissy too.
The most memorable: Dollywood. Yikes.
Best vacations as a kid was always going to Boone, NC. Impressed me so much that I moved there as an adult.
Worst- for some reason, my parents decided to spend a week in Huntington, WV. I think they were considering moving there. Went to the theme park, AKA state fair, called Camdem Park, one day, and then spent 4 days looking at neighborhood. Stayed in a hotel that had no pool and, as my dad called them, “goddamned hippies” everywhere on the hotel grounds. The highlight was going to Dairy Queen and a group of eight black dudes kept calling my dad “Brother”. You could have cooked an egg on his forehead.
Best adult vacation- cruise to Bahamas. The boat was the best part however, as we were dropped off in da hood in Nassau. Saw the events unfolding there and just went back on the boat for the free food.
Worst adult vacation- With first wife, every year we went to Detroit for a week. Not the outskirt- DOWNTOWN, where all her sisters and brothers lived.
Detroit sure isn’t a city you hear as a vacation destination very often.
We musta crossed paths in the summer of ’77. My family also took a summer vacation that went to Cooperstown, Niagra Falls, and Boston that year. I was 6 at the time so you were probably one of the douchy teenagers I saw everywhere.
Shit — all the beer, etc. has really clouded my memories, but here’s what I can come up with at 8:30am:
1976 or 77: Dirt poor, my recently divorced Mom, myself, my Grandmother, and my Aunt, Uncle and their 2 kids all piled in an early 70s Plymouth Duster and drove to Virginia Beach. Kids on the parents’ laps. My Uncle rented the bottom floor of a small beach house approximately 1/2 mile walk from the beach, and it smelled like dead sea life and the carpet was soaking wet. I wonder if there was no floor and that the carpet was just laid over the sand? Got in a fight with my cousin because he was jealous because my Mom bought me a fucking lousy can of Dr. Pepper.
Late 70s: Went to Daytona Beach. They parked cars on the beach then (probably still do) and I ran out between two parked cars and almost got mowed down by a big old hunk of rolling American steel. Mom’s boyfriend got the rental car stuck in the sand as high tide was coming in and we had to get some nearby beachgoers to help push it out before it got flooded. I survived on Slim Jims that my Mom’s boyfriend had bought as snacks for the hotel because every time they took me into a restaurant, I would pass out into my food from the air conditioning.
Early 80s: discovering that I was growing up to be a pyromaniac when, on the way to Myrtle Beach, I realized that fireworks were legal in South Carolina. I spent the whole trip buying shit that would explode and lighting it off on the beach (must have been some private condo beach because I don’t remember any cops). I think we did that trip in a Pontiac Firebird, and 14 hours in the backseat of that thing was cramped as hell.
1965: sis and I with grandparents throughout the whole state of Florida, every tourist atrraction known incl Ringling Museum, Cypress Gardens, Sea Aquarium, Sarasota, St. Augustine Fort, Ponce De Leon Fountain of Youth, Stepen Foster Museum, Biscayne Bay, and have probably left out a few.
1968 – Leopards Lair Motel in Outer Banks with defunct septic system, but managed to see Kitty Hawk in Kill Devil Hills
1970 – Fontana NC which was hot, hot, hot. Toured a power plant if I remember Not a damned thing to do, but did love the mountain scenary.
Really mundane childhood vacations I suppose. Most all relatives were from Tidewater VA so MANY fond memories of Virginia Beach with the cousins, aunts and uncles.
Every summer from about the age of 6 until I was in my teens I was shipped off with my brother and sister on a Greyhound bus to either our Aunt’s place in Gettyburg or my Great Aunts in Harrisburg.
The Aunt was only decent because they owned a motel right next to the battlefield so we got to swim alot.
The Great Aunt was rich and had this huge house and property but there was nothing to do but hang out on the back porch while she got shit faced every afternoon on gin and tonics.
I still have no idea what in the hell Mom and Dad did while we were gone. Probably just enjoyed the peace and quiet.
No time for vacations….Must Keep Working….
Oh, one more thought on one of my vacations: As an adult in ’92 visited Alcatraz with my said “certifiable” sister. We were allowed to visit the upstairs infirmary which still smelled of ether, antiseptic, and various hospital chemicals; instruments left out, guerneys intact, pale green walls and hospital attire….eerie to say. Understand it was closed off shortly afterwards due to deteriorating condition of the building.
Since my Dad is the opposite of the “drive-straight-through-without-stopping” stereotype, it seemed like any trip we made took forever. Indeed, he STILL can’t be bothered to drive over 55 mph. Even a day trip to visit my grandparents felt a little like a major trek, even though it was barely 90 minutes away…
Anyhow, we went to the Smokey Mountains a couple times in the late 70s/early80s. It always rained. And since my parents flat-out refused to take us kids into any of the tourist traps that abounded in the region then, most of the trip would be spent cruising around Gatlinburg in the rain or driving back into the mountians, which, while pretty enough in any weather, began to get boring after awhile. About the most memorable thing I remember about those trips was the fact that most of the motels we stayed at had cable TV, something which had not yet reached our neighborhood. We also took a lengthy marathon vacation around the north shore of Lake Superior, often staying in ancient motels in tiny towns. A couple of the places didn’t even have TVs, and at least one town had no restaurants. We never really went anyplace truly notable. And we were perpetually within driving distance of someplace cool, but never went: We saw Baltimore but not Washington DC, Talahassee but not Orlando, Lancaster PA but not Philadelphia. Of course, after my sister and I were out of the house, my parents took a huge road trip which encompassed everything from Mt. Rushmore to the Grand Canyon, places I would very much have liked to visit as a child. This is still a bone of contention, as you might imagine, but the parental response is that they were owed such a trip as their “reward,” for what I’m not sure…
I would rather be in the Smokies than anywhere else in the world, rain be damned. We also avoid the tourist traps. I hate Pigeon Forge. We relent the on the tourist trap ban with the Aquarium in Gatlinburg because it’s really pretty good. We spend the night in Gatlinburg and eat there, but the rest of our time is in the park, rain or shine.
I had many great family vacations. We had an evolving series of campers (home built camper van with tip out bed, tent trailer, converted bus) and my parents would take my older brother and I to all kinds of Provincial Parks and Speedways within 5-6 hours of Ottawa. Cycling around or catching crayfish in the stream at Fitzroy, canoeing and tiping (on purpose) in the waves at Sandbanks, Classic Weekend at Oswego. Great times.
One of the more memorable vacations was when my parents rented a C class motorhome and we went to Florida in 1990. I was 14. We had a gas station attendant with a sidearm in Jacksonville, which was amazing and scary to our Ontario eyes. We attended the Daytona 500: watching Tom Cruise do hot laps while filming Days of Thunder, seeing Earnhardt lose the race on the last lap due to a flat tire. A day each at Magic Kingdom, Epcot Centre and MGM Studios. I remember buying Super Mario Bros. 3, which was not yet available in Canada. Even the 24 hour drive in the motorhome was ok because you could get up at any time to pee, grab a drink, make a sandwich or take a nap on the bed.
The subject matter is timely for me because I bought my first tent trailer last week, picked it up on Friday and went to Kawartha Speedway for the NASCAR Canadian TIre Series finale this past weekend. My daughter wasn’t with me in Kawartha but I can’t wait to get started on creating great vacation and camping memories with her.
I don’t want to put a damper on the vacation memories as I have so many to tell as well. But the day has come when I have to put one of my pugs down, Stella. She is 14 years old. Her hind legs have been deteriorating for the past few years with steady progression over the summer. It’s almost like a human Muscular Dystrophy. She can no longer stand. She is not eating and drinking as usual. My boyfriend actually built a cart for her hind end but her front legs are not strong enough to pull her around. I can tell she is just “tired” and it’s time. Her “quality” of life has past.
So tonight we go home and to the vet’s. It’s the hardest decision I have ever had to make. I am heartbroken. But I know it’s the right thing to do….
I know all you dog/pet lover’s out there in Surf land will understand. This fucking sucks.
Sorry for your loss.
Oh Bikerchick, I am SO SO sorry. I’ll send my Pie Dude to hold paws on Stella’s journey. She won’t be aone. And never forgotten. She lived a very loved life!
madz: xoxo
Thoughts and prayers are with you tonight, bikerckick!
I went through this a few years ago with my English Springer Spaniel, Maggie. There was some arthritis and other hip deterioration. I had to hold her back end up so she could poop. I was devastated when the time came, but I knew that prolonging things would not be fair to her. Even though it’s painful, you’re making the right decision. Make sure you have lots of pictures.
I clipped a few pieces of fur, and even had an individual cremation, so I have her ashes. It may sound a little overboard, but at the time, it helped with the grieving process. I so sorry for you and Stella.
Greg: She just stumbles and drags herself along and poops as she goes along. Either falling in it or through it. That did it for me. There’s a thing called dignity….even for dogs.
…and I don’t think cremation was overboard a bit..
Maggie’s ashes are in a container with her collar around it, all placed in front of a framed 8×10 of her on a library table . It’s a dignified presentation, and that way, I can see every day, and feel her with me. You’re right: even dogs deserve dignity.
My cat Daisy couldn’t stand any longer to pee. I woke up one morning to her just sitting and panting in her litter box. No way was that going to be my last memory of her – a puffball in a cloud of Tidy Cat dust. I held her AND Pie Dude in my arms when they took their final breaths.
Madz, I can tell you loved your animals, just as we all do, or did. The pain of loss becomes less in time, but it never goes away completely. I’m sorry for your loss. I’ve always said that animals are people, too.
Absolutely! My husband can STILL get choked up – especially about his Pie Dude. They are buried side by side under a massive evergreen. I have 1 cat left. She’s 14 and I keep her as healthy as possible.
Funny, I now have 2 other cats hanging around. One has a collar but the other is very skittish. I hope they become less scared because if they have been dumped, I want to get them in before it gets too cold at night for the poor critters to be out shivering.
I can’t say it any better than what has already been said. You are so right about quality of life and deserving dignity. My heart goes out to you and Stella.
bikerchick,
I’m so sorry. We had to put down poor old Max last January – he had lung cancer! It’s a terrible decision to have to make, but you did the right thing.
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Oh Bikerchick, I’m so sorry! That totally blows. 🙁 I still get choked up from time to time about my dog, and she died nearly 11 years ago. But you’re absolutely right about quality of life issues. No sense for Stella to suffer any longer. Good luck with everything. You’ll be in my thoughts tonight.
You are doing the right thing. I know that doesn’t make it any easier for you to deal with though.
Thanks everyone. We took her last night. It was very peaceful…except for my sobbing. The vet assured me it was time and I was not to feel guilty. Especially since she literally went down hill so quickly in a matter of weeks.
The most heart wrenching thing was last night and this morning when I let my male pug out. He stood at the top of the house waiting for her to come stumbling up the hill. Then before coming through the door, he stopped and looked back, waiting. I guess that will take time too.
One of my boyfriend’s best friend has 2 local funeral homes. He is cremating her for us.
You guys are absolutely the best.
Sorry to chime in so late- I just checked back in. I have nothing original to say. Just that I’m sorry about your friend.
You did the right thing. I had to make the same decision five years ago with my golden retriever Mack. He was 15. I still can’t talk about it.
Thank you, doc. xoxo
Man, that stinks BC. Our pets are our children and losing one of them his terrible. Hang in there girl.
BC, I’m late coming in, but so, so sorry for your loss. I’ve lost my two old dogs in the past couple two, three years and one not to old age, but to Lymphoma–and it’s hard making the decision. So, so hard. With my Dottie girl, I waited too long and still regret making her suffer so much. Damn, 14 or 15 years go by fast, don’t they.
Bill and Vicki: Thank you for your thoughts.
Shit…..14 years went by in a blink of an eye. The house is so quiet now with no sounds of scarfing down food, barking because someone was getting attention other than her, and let’s not forget the burping and farting. She was my little diva.
bikerchick…
I’ve owned my house since 1979. I have a grave in the front yard and four in the back yard. I am a cat person, and since cats are highly territorial, I wanted to lay their clay in a place that would be familiar to them.
Kinky Friedman says that when we die and go to heaven, all the pets we’ve loved will come running to greet us. Until then, I am blessed with pleasant memories of the pleasure of their company. I know that you will be blessed with wonderful memories of Stella.
As for me, Run In Peace Molly, Clementine, Chessie, Scout, Whifferdill.
John
jtb: Thank you for your kind words. I just saw a poem yesterday on some website about pets waiting for you at heaven’s gate. I wish I would have printed it.
When I was a little girl, we had many pets. Our back yard was looking like a little sanctuary. Probably much like yours.
No doubt Stella is standing her ground in heaven’s chow line, being a bully as in life, not letting any other dog eat until she’s had her fill.
OK, on a lighter note…..Suck it, Sawx. Tampa Rays in playoffs. I was there. Didn’t get home until 2 am. Down 7-0 to the Yank-mees, 8 runs in final two innings to win. Whatever happened to Tempo Relentless? Another huge Rays fan.
So you’re the Rays fan, I heard there was one, somewhere. j/k, I’m still very bitter about the historic suckatude of my Sox. It’s seems the baseball gods were determined to get your team in the playoffs, there were about a million things that had to happen just right for it to happen, and every one of them happened. I’m curious to see why the Rays are so destined to make it, it better be a hell of a show.
I expect them to defeat Texas, to get back for last time, but no way I expect them to beat either Yank-mees or Detroit, whover them may face. If so, I’m spending my savings on World Series tickets.
Don’t know what happened to the Sawx. Abortion of historic proportions there. Better luck next year
True. An abortion indeed.
But let me just say as a longtime Orioles fan, HAHAHAHA and you’re welcome, Rays. Although the Rays certainly did what they had to do. Congrats.
Great night of baseball. And the Sox don’t suck. At all. They just choked. And of course, the Orioles played good baseball that series.
And anybody can say anything- yeah the O’s are in LAST PLACE AGAIN, but let me speak for all Birds fans: who gives a shit?
Sorry, Jeff, for bringing the mood so down. >heavy sigh<
So here is one of my vacation stories that really stands out…..
I was probably 12 or 13 years old. My dad and I were on our way to Avalon, NJ, in my mother's Lincoln Continental. It was a oversized vessel for godssakes. Mid summer, 90 degrees. The electrical system shits the bed while the air was on and windows up. There was no ventilation other than opening the air vents, no power windows, no air. We were sucking air and sweating putty balls. Even though we only had about 2 hrs to go before arriving at the shore, we had to pull over ever so often to get some relief. Dad always said he felt like a lobster clawing at the side of the tank trying to escape. Mom, of course, thought it was hilarious. She had flown ahead of us to Philly to help my sister with her new baby, then to meet us at the shore.
(hi! I’m new here!)
I too, had a no-a/c, no power windows experience, during my evacuation from New Orleans to Houston for hurricane Katrina. NO FUN. I literally had to keep mopping sweat out of my eyes with Burger King napkins. 8 hours of sitting, stopped in contra-flow traffic followed by 3 hours of thunderstorms so bad we couldn’t have opened the windows even if we wanted to! Brutal!
Sorry to hear about your Stella. I’m glad the Reporters are so kind to one another
Welcome minipedsinNOLA!
Thanks! I’m slowly working my way through the archives to get caught up, and laughing my ass off getting there.
You’re in for LOTS of treats. You may want to keep a box of tissues handy for eye wiping purposes!
Welcome MiniPeds! You definitely ARE in for a treat. I have ruined perfectly applied eye makeup from laughing at (and with ) this crazy bunch.
I don’t even wear mascara anymore. I got tired of looking like Alice Cooper.
Another word to the wise – don’t drink anything carbonated. You have no idea how awful it feels shooting frm a nostril.
Welcome, you are in for one helluva ride. Jeff and I have known each other for about 43 years and he just gets better as the years go by. I get brought up now and then in his recollections, but it’s all good fun.
Wonderful!
I’m pretty sure the folks in cubicals around me think I’m nuts as they’ve walked by me with tears in my eyes from stifling laughter. I proudly used and the gave credit to Jeff for his phrase “scare the varnish off a door” recently. Great stuff.
Oh…you will have a whole new vocabulary in a matter of days!
My chicken came out dry.
It feels like I am trying to swallow whole ping pong balls with a heavy dusting of sand paper.
I’m probably the only moron on the planet who likes dry chicken. And I KNOW I’ll catch hell for this but I don’t care for gravy, either. I’ll take my roast beef naked,t hanks. And my mashed potatoes.
Yeah, I’m a freak of nature.
Same here, I hate food drenched in compounds trying to hide the true flavor of the food.