After the last post, I'm sure you thought my posts would take on some consistency here in 2009. Well, guess again, bitches. My keyboard has been on the blink for several days and then, just now, my youngest ran a truck over the top of it and it started working once again. I guess he's magic.
As you all know, our dog Whiskey was killed by a semi-truck last Saturday. Immediately, Rowdy and I wondered how to tell Ridge. At just 2 1/2, Rolan is thankfully still too small to grasp it, so we didn't have to worry about him. Ridge, on the other hand, is right at the cusp of understanding. He has seen death on Barnyard and in those ridicules Westerns Rowdy is constantly watching with him. But, then again, he's 4. There's no way he can totally come to terms with the finality of death.
So, in keeping with my standard "Let's Brush It Under The Rug" life philosophy, we just said nothing until he brought it up. After two days without seeing Whiskey, he realized his friend was absent.
Ridge walked in the house, his face drawn with worry. "Where's Whiskey," he asked his father and me.
We exchanged glances, both wondering what the other was thinking. We'd received advice from several people on how we should approach this. I mean, clearly the whole "He went to live on a farm" classic wouldn't work for us. I've always believed honesty is probably the best route to take, unless of course we are referring to the weight listed on driver's licenses and then I say, "Deny Until You Die."
Anyways, I sat on the couch and Rowdy sat caddy cornered from me in his chair. He looked at Ridge and softly explained that Whiskey had been hit by a truck.
Ridge's eyes grew as large as half dollars as he innocently inquired, "Did he die?"
I shook my head and whispered yes. And just as I was hugging my boy, Rowdy pulled a Starburst candy from his pocket and began unwrapping it. Instantly Ridge spotted that shit.
Oh, and Happy Birthday, Elvis!
"Oh....candy!" he belted as he scurried to his dad.
And that's how Ridge learned that Whiskey had died.