Tank, Part II

As a baby, Meg was a spitter, a world-class, projectile spitter. Oh, my word, that girl could spit up. We grew to love the hiccups (I wanted to write "hiccoughs," the proper term, but Blogger does not like the spelling) because only that would signal that she was done spitting up. What does this have to do with Tank? Well, as gross as it sounds Tank was our Hoover. He would and could eat anything. Meg would spit up, and Tank would clean up the floor (thank goodness for laminate floors), the furniture, and Meg herself. Any time, day or night, that tongue of his would do its job. It made our lives much easier. And, yes, we employed his services during Jake and Finn's infancy as well.


Before we had chosen Tank, Brian and I had visited the Marymoor off-leash dogpark a couple of times; we wanted to be around dogs and figure out the breed that would work for us. Once we brought home Tank, we couldn't wait to take him. For his safety and the safety of the other dogs, we had to wait. By October, Tank was finally ready for his first trip; he was fixed and had all of his shots. We bundled up Meghan, loaded up Tank, and off we went. Tank LOVED the dogpark. He could run free and meet other dogs and people. Unfortunately, he wasn't trained yet and would jump on almost anybody. Almost. One of the sweetest qualities about Tanker was his attitude towards children. He would run up to them and beg to be petted, but he would never jump on them. He was always gentle, almost reverent, of the youngest child.


His favorite part, though, was the river and mud, especially the mud. After running and playing, he was tired and a bit hot so he found the deepest patch of mud and lowered his light golden body into the stinky, cool mud. Choruses of "no-o-o-o!" could be heard throughout the part. They continued when he though it would only be proper to roll in the mud and thoroughly cover himself. Only a dog.


The strange thing was that the mud only stuck to his fur momentarily. He has always had a knack for looking clean even after drenching himself in filth.


Tank didn't want to leave the park. The only way we could get him to the car was by playing a little game. Brian would go ahead of us to the side of the path back to the car, squat down and call Tank, while I would encourage him with "Go to Papa!" Then I would go ahead on the other side of the path and Brian would yell "Go to Mama!" We zig-zagged him all the way back to the parking lot. We originally tried staying on the path, but that didn't work. Too smart for that.

Tank is the little guy with his butt facing the camera.

When Meg was one month old, we decided to take her and Tank to Sunset, a Mount Rainier viewing point on the north side of the mountain, a three-hour drive. It was a glorious day in October, and I am slightly embarrassed to say that I only agreed because of Brian's prodding. He's much more adventurous than I am. My memory of the time has faded. I don't remember much more than it being a lovely day. We hiked and played and took pictures.

I mentioned before that Tank could blend into our flooring. Here's a sweet photo of him doing just that in our hallway on Halloween, 1999. He's about 4-1/2 months old.

Next, a cross-country trip ...

Grieving space ... the beginning

I don't know how long or how often I will need to pre-empt this space in dedication and memory of Tank. Everyone is welcome to read, but for now, I do this solely for me and to pass on the memories to my children.


While pregnant with Meg, we lived in a small loft apartment in Bellevue, just 700 square feet. Tiny since we had combined two households. With a complaining neighbor and tight space, we knew we needed to finally move to a house. We knew that we wanted to buy, not rent. Brian was out of work, and I would soon be on maternity leave. But, God looked out for us. In May 1999, we moved into an 1100-square-foot rambler on a shy acre in Redmond.


Brian and I have always been dog people and swore that once we owned a house, we would also get a dog. Since we were about to add a baby girl to our household, we decided that we needed a purebreed with a reputation as a great family dog. Our friends and family thought we were crazy to take on a puppy and baby at the same time. We couldn't imagine life any other way. You see, when my mom was pregnant with me, my parents brought home Susie, a collie-shepherd mix. I grew up with her until she passed away when I was 12. If they could do it, we surely could.


Within two months and through a lot of research, we found our puppy. A breeder in Lake Stevens had puppies available and accepted our application and money. She set up interviews with each family. Since we were the last to sign on, we were the last appointment of the day.


I can never forget the day that we first met the golden fuzz ball that we named Tank, formally Tankard of Ale. We sat in the grass with a bunch of puppies, sleepy from their time with the other families. Except for one pup. No one had chosen him because of his energy. Even the breeder expressed concern that he would be too energetic for us with a baby on the way. Brian and I? We instantly fell in love. The fur on the top of his head stood straight up as if he had been given a crew cut. He played and cuddled. Licked and crawled all over us. Knowing that we had to wait two more weeks before we could bring him home made leaving almost impossible. During the long drive home, we talked about the preparations that we needed to make -- a crate, a collar, tags, a vet, toys. Hard to believe that was 10-1/2 years ago.


About this time, Brian was starting a new job, another blessing as I was about to go on unpaid leave. The only downside to the job was that he would have to travel. So here we are the beginning of August 1999. A new job, a new puppy, and a baby due in mid-October.


I hope that I remember more about bringing him home some time so that I can record the sweet memories. The years, though, have wiped away so much of it. Now it is a mosaic of experiences.


Tank slept in his crate on my side of the bed. With Brian's job and all, it mostly fell to me to take him outside during the night for potty breaks. Since Brian was out of town and neither of us was willing to let him stay home alone, I would take Tank in his crate to work everyday. Throughout these days, I would take him out for potty breaks, walks around the Microsoft campus, bring him water and food and friends to play with. When Brian wasn't traveling, Tank would occasionally visit his office.


He was such a funny puppy. One of his favorite resting areas was between a large couch cushion that leaned against the side of our This-End-Up crate furniture. He would burrow in head first with his back legs splayed, almost the splits, on the wood floor that he blended into perfectly. He loved to be pet and rough-housed but was never fond of just sitting your lap -- no matter how much I forced him. :) He always had too much to do.


We will never forget ... One time when my parents were over, Tank went charging across the floor. In mid run, he decided to use his back paw to scratch his ear. He seemed so surprised when he ended up crashing and sliding on his bum, no longer running. That memory has generated so much laughter over the years.


September 16th. Such a significant day in our lives, and yes, Tank played his part. Brian was in Tulsa to wrap up his last day of travel so that he could make sure that he was home for Meggy's birth. Once again, I brought Tank to work with me. As usual, I parked in the underground garage to keep the minivan and Tank cool. In the early afternoon, I was feeling funny and decided to drive to the small above ground lot. I hated exposing Tank and me to the garage fumes while we walked out.


We set off for our walk around the block. Well, waddle for me. Once we returned to the van, I loaded up Tank and turned the ignition. I had a bit of a problem. I couldn't move my right foot from the gas pedal to the brake. Weird. I didn't think much of it and decided to two-foot the pedals back to the garage. Once back to my office, I knew that I needed to go home and rest. Just felt blah. My supervisor thought it was something else -- labor!


No! It couldn't be. We still had 3.5 weeks left. Brian wasn't home yet and not due to return until the morning. I was just feeling sick. My supe wanted me to go straight to the hospital, but we compromised, and I called my mom to come and get us and take us to my ob/gyn. While there, my water broke. Brian hopped on a plane and sped home.


Tank was a trooper. Our group manager had a golden as well. She met us at the hospital and took Tank home with her for a week. He had a great time on his little vacation and came home with new toys and a bear bell.


Meg was born that evening at 8:28 pm amidst complications. Brian didn't make it in time for her arrival, but that's another story.


While I was in the hospital, he purchased our first digital camera. Below are some of the first digital pics we took of Tank. Some day I will find our prints and scan them so that I can post them as well.


More later ...

At Gima and Grampa's house

At home, in one of the bedrooms

I love that face