Friday, January 27, 2012

(not so) Pearly Whites

As you've all figured out by now, I've got issues.  BIG issues.  One of my biggest issues has ALWAYS been TEETH.  I kind of obsess about my own teeth... I want them straight, white, clean, perfect.  Lately I have been wrastlin' (HA!) with these over-the-counter, drugstore teeth whitening kits like a fiend.  Returned 3 of them so far (they made me gag & damn near barf), but I think I finally found a keeper ~ White2Nite.  Easy peasy & NO, I don't work for them (!), but it's natural (supposedly) & I think it works!  If not, I'll just fake-whiten them in Photoshop from now on.  Shhhhhh...

So you'd think I'd also be a nutjob about flossing.  And you would be sorely mistaken.  I HATE to floss.  I floss like twice a year after corn-on-the-cob and popcorn.  That's about it.  I mean it, it's PAINFUL for me to floss -- physically & emotionally.  I don't like the smell of it, it hurts my gums, they bleed, and that fake-minty-that-really-doesn't-cover-up-the-horrific-smell-of-the-shit-that-comes-out-from-in-between-my-teeth floss cuts into my fingers, and I either pull off wayyyyy too much or not even close to enough of it, and did I mention the smell?!?!?  I'm so flustered by the end of this 5 minute ordeal  ~  brushing, flossing, dry-heaving because of the smell (that smell is VILE!), spitting blood, tongue scraping (ha!), bitching about it, and then trying to cover up the blood/bacteria (?) taste in my mouth by drinking something that just counters the whole damn process that my ass is completely worn out.  Flossing is BULLSHIT.  (But I know it's important, and I'm told that the more I do it, less nasty stuff will reside between my super gorgeous teeth and the tourniquet will no longer be needed around my neck to stop the intense gum bleeding.  So, I'm workin' on it...sort of.)

And I won't lie, I like a man with a nice grill, too (Scott, you got it goin' on!).  I don't care what means it takes to achieve this either.  Braces, those old school, hard, colorful plastic/wire retainers (I'm totally sportin' 2 of those bad boys once a month week... sexyyyy!), the new-fangled clear numbers, Zoom whitening, veneers, grillz, flippers (I MUST stop watching that trainwreck show Toddlers & Tiaras!!), or maybe you're just oh-so-blessed to be born with a beautiful smile... whatever.  I JUST DIG NICE TEETH. 

I am equally consumed with my kids' teeth.  Don't EVEN get me started on Cal's teeth issues (refusal to pull them, refusal to brush near a tooth that is loose, blah blah blah -- threats worked well with him!).  But the BIG problem began years ago when we had Claire & realized she had special needs.  Due to my "issues," I made a vow early on about Claire: 
1.  I will NEVER take her out without her being dressed like a damn child model with perfectly styled hair.
2.  I will NEVER let her have bad teeth.

Not sure why I associated the opposite with "special needs" in general, but for some reason, I did. 

And that is when the Special Needs Parenting Gods sought me out & struck me the F down.

Yep.  I figured out pretty damn quick that there would be PLENTY o' times my girl was all of the above -- dressed shittily (is that a word?!), hair a hot mess, and sportin' far-from-"beautiful" chompers. 

Oh yes.  I gave up those "I will NEVER's" in a hurry.  Here's why...

OK, so roughly 5-ish years ago, we noticed that Claire was developing some black staining on her teeth.  We feverishly brushed (against her will), tried to loosen it, attempted to rectify the situation to the best of our abilities.  No matter how much we brushed, the black staining remained.  At the next dental visit, we asked our dentist and hygienist about this.  They were both completely confused, as this wasn't something they saw hardly ever.  They decided that it was likely due to a variety of factors:  Claire doesn't eat by mouth so her food cannot really act as a natural "toothbrush" (she is 100% g-tube fed), this "staining" was likely bacterial, possibly caused from something in her saliva, and likely it is "out of our hands" as far as brushing it away.  They assured us that her teeth were healthy under the black streaks (seriously?!) and that likely it was coating her teeth and protecting them from cavities.  However, it isn't so great for her poor gums.  Gingi-friggin'-vitis can suck it!

We discussed our options regarding cleaning her teeth.  We basically had two choices:  knock her ass out using anesthesia and clean them ALL up 100% perfectly -- only to have anesthesia side effects & the black staining return within a month or two -- OR -- hold her down, avoid anesthesia, clean them the best we can, and still have it return in a month or two.  The choice was obvious for us. 

So, every 6 months like clockwork, we brave the dentist's office with not one, but TWO dwarves.  And though Lola has avoided the black staining, she has yellow plaque-like shit (for lack of a better word!) on her toofers.  Good times. 

"Black & yellow, black & yellow, black & yellow, black & yellow... yeah, uh huh, you know what it is...everything I do, I do it big..."  ~Wiz Khalifa

On Wednesday in the a.m., Scott & I set off with our girls, completely unsuspecting of the torture "help" comin' their way.  I am not sure my pictures will do the visit justice, though I will do my best to give you an arch-by-arch... oops!  I mean, PLAY-BY-PLAY of the hour-long fiasco. 

Up first was Lola.  We established our positions -- Scott in the chair holding Lola, me standing next to the chair holding the suction device, Nellie (our fabulous hygienist) goin' to town from the front, and Claire passed out in her beanbag.  Let's DO THIS DEAL.  TEAMWORK!
Things started out well.  Lola was playing "sucky-sucky" with the delightful water-feed pick, sitting like a nice girl and behaving, with Claire "chillin' like a villain" in the background.  Nellie, not only the best dental hygienist EVER but also our dear friend, worked her magic with precision and speed on our dumbfounded Mrs. Pocket.
So far, so good... though starting to gently arch her back against Scott's hand in protest (damn hypertonia!).
Pictures ceased here, as things began to get ugly.  Polly Ann proceeded to arch until her face turned red, gums were bleeding, and she was fartin' her brains out.  After near asphyxiation approximately 22 minutes later, we called it a day for our tiniest dwarf.  Scott stopped to stretch the ol' bicep, and I snapped some pics of the switch-a-roo.
"My fangs hurt, and I HATE YOU ALLLLLLLL!!!!"
Sweet, relaxed, flashin' WSD gang signs... that's my girl.
"Wait, where AM I???  What's happening?!?!?  It's MY turn?"
Our girl is terrified at this point.  Notice the rubber gloves, Claire's praying hands, and Daddy trying to trick her with the smug smiles and fake, fingertip-only back rub... make a break for it, Claire!  Shit's goin' DOWN, girlfriend.
Gettin' suited up, still suspicious...
OMG.  OMG.  OMG.  Must!  Escape!!!
Pissed as HELL straight out the MF gate!
Notice the intense stress/strain on Scott's left wrist... sister's hella FIERCE.  Notice my well-timed escape break to "snap a few pictures."  Bwahahahahahahahaaaaaa!
Sympathy cries for her sister... Tag Team back again!
Tryin' to "tapout" ~ mission unsuccessful!  Claire = 0.  Nellie/blood/f'in' sharp-ass tools = 1.
Must!  Retaliate!
30 minutes, one shredded bicep, a skidmark, multiple juicy farts, and some bloody gums/lips later, our girl's teeth are once again SPOTLESS (for the most part) (for another month or so anyway...).  Hells yeah.

Just wish there was something we could do to help them STAY THAT WAY!!!  (And no, she doesn't take iron or antibiotics that might have caused this, and yes, we've tried multiple probiotics to stimulate good bacterial growth to hopefully overtake the blackness, all to no avail, dammit!)  So if anyone has any suggestions, fire them my way.  Until then, we will keep on keepin' on and will love the hell outta our girlies & their sometimes colorful, yet decently-aligned grinders.  And FULLY letting go of our need to have control over things which clearly are OUT OF OUR CONTROL.  So hard, but I think this is partly the girls' gift to us.

I leave you with someone who has much larger issues than just his teeth and who makes me feel a WHOLE helluva lot better about our own situation...  ENJOY!


Big hugs & thanks to Nellie & Dr. Diana Quillin for all your help with our family's teeth & for dealing with all our "issues."  We love you! 

Friday, January 20, 2012

Merry Belated MLK, Jr. Day!

I am ashamed to admit it (and NO, I didn't shart myself again!!!), but this year's "Christmas" letter/pic combo did not go out until shortly before Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  Ahhhhh, yes.  Damn near a month late.  We got it goin' ON in The Hooligan household fa sho.

Without further ado (I've ALWAYS wanted to say that!), I present to you our most recent family pictures (taken by THE BEST photographer *EVER* & our good friend, Gavin Peters)...

Cal  ~  Age 13

Claire  ~  Age 10

Lola  ~  Age 5

These bloopers cracked us up...
Good ol' "I'm not sure what to do with my hands" Cali Bobby

You wanna piece o' me?
(We fully expected to see her middle finger extended on this badass shot of our Claire-bug!)

No more pictures, or I will CUT YOU.
(Post-non-toddling toddler/pre-tween angst at its finest!  HA!)

Thanks so much to all of you for following our blog, for seeing the worth in ALL of our children, and for laughing at?! along with us at all of the Hooligan happenings.  WE LOVE YOU!!!

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be." ~Douglas Adams


Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Oops! I Crapped My Pants

I have hesitated to write this blog for a multitude of reasons, the main one being sheer embarrassment, but also because it's kind of uncouth (first time in my life I've used that word -- woohooo!).  This is not often discussed, and well, I'm kind of a chicken shit about admitting this type of thing, but here goes anyway.  I mean, after all, if you can't make fun of yourself, who can you make fun of, right?!?!  And I don't mind being the ass of my own jokes... literally.

I warn you in advance, if you're sensitive to stories about bodily functions (specifically involving fecal matter), please just leave my blog NOW.  I mean it.  GO.  Quickly hit the back arrow.  Because I am not proud of the following story, but I feel it needs to be told and people need to know they're not alone with this.  Just trying to help.

OK, so the other day something reeeeeeally appalling happened to me.  I *KNOW* I am surely not alone in this, but it feels like I am.  I often make jokes about this sort of thing, so when it occurs in real life, I am ashamed.

I sharted. 
Thank God it wasn't THAT bad (!), but it happened.  And I'm not proud.

And I am pretty sure the reason it happened was karma.  Karma AND Scott.  Yes, it is true.  They are BOTH to blame.  Here's why...

Rewind to approximately a month or so ago.  I got a nasty cold.  The kind where you cough for like 6 weeks, hock up & out multiple loogies every 3 minutes, and your body continues producing more amazingly.  The kind where you cough-so-hard-and-so-often-that-you-maybe-pee-your-pants-on-the-hard-ones (just a little... shhhh!).  The kind where you are so f'ing annoyed that you wish you'd gotten the 24 hour flu instead because SURELY a day of puking your brains out beats 6 weeks of coughing and getting half-assed, broken sleep the entire time.  Yep, got that bad boy, and then proceeded to pass it on to my hubby -- out of love, of course.

I'd tapered down on the coughing/sneezing/simultaneous peeing, though Scott was still in full effect.  As he laid down to go to sleep one night maybe two weeks ago, he had a coughing attack which was so violent and boisterous that he literally interrupted my story & proclaimed, "Oh dear... I may have just sharted..."  He ditched our Claire (his snuggle bunny!) & beelined for the head.  I exploded in laughter and delight at his misfortune, leaning forward in bed to peer in the john to get a load of this hot mess (literally!).  Probably TMI, but he did a quick crack-check and courtesy wipe only to announce, "FALSE ALARM!  WHEW!  Thank God, because I'm pretty sure I haven't shit my pants since the early 90's.  Glad I didn't break my streak (pun intended)!" 

To which I called BULLSHIT. 

And this is when our steamy (HA!) shart debate began... (the next day, as the near-shart incident occurred at like 2:00 am!)

Gwen -- "There is NO WAY IN HELL you've not sharted since high school..."

Scott -- "No, I'm serious, I remember exactly when it happened last.  I think it was my junior year & I'd been sick... I tested the waters out on farting post cha-cha-cha & I lost."

Gwen -- "No, I'm pretty sure I've seen skid marks in your boxers since we've been married..."

Scott -- "WHAT?!?!  No you haven't!  GO FIND A PAIR OF MY BOXERS THAT HAVE SHIT STAINS IN THEM!!!  I do NOT shit my pants."

Gwen -- "I think I'll pass, but we ALL shit our pants from time to time, it's NORMAL."

Scott -- "Only if you're an infant!  Nastyyyyy!"

Gwen -- "It happens to the best of us.  I'm not afraid to admit I have sharted, and I will likely shart again." 

Scott -- "Do you think our babysitter is listening to this conversation?"

Gwen -- "God, I hope so... HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Fast forward to about a week ago.  I am over the cold basically, minding my own business getting ready to fix a bottle for Lola, and as it's normal to fart approximately 14 times daily (I shit you not!), I may or may not have let one slide, only to be greeted by that unfamiliar gooey sensation I'd JUST made fun of Scott for about a week prior.  I panic, drop the F-bomb, and dash for the loo.  You have GOT to be shitting me!  No, I was shitting MYSELF.  Smaller than dime sized, but actual feces nonetheless.  WTF?!??!?!

When Cal got home from school, I "came clean" about sharting, as he normally finds this sort of thing hilarious.  This time, I'm met with, "Ewwwwww.  Thanks for sharing.  That's disguuuuuuusting."  I said, "I KNOW!!!!  But remember all those times YOU sharted?  Remember how we laughed & made light of it & it made you feel better about having done it & all was better?"  He just stared at me, made a face of pure horror, and walked off.

Some help he is.

So when Scott got home, I was feeling insecure and embarrassed.  Ashamed of my rectum's utter betrayal, I shared my dirty little secret.  Scott busted out a 20 second laugh & then said, "That's karma, babyyyyy!  Sorry 'bout your luck.  My streak is still unbroken!  HAHHAHAHHA!  You sharted!  HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!" 

Seriously?!  Time to bust some balls.

Gwen -- "Ummm, hang on just a second, jackwipe... I STILL don't believe you haven't shit yourself in 20 years." 

Scott -- "It's true.  All of it." 

Gwen -- "See, I am confused and bewildered why this even happened!  I am not even sick?  I haven't had an upset stomach, cha-cha-cha, or ANYTHING.  I'm good!"

Scott -- "It's because you made fun of me for it last week."

Gwen -- "Karma can suck it.  I think it happened because I have such a healthy diet.  It's fiber's fault."

Scott -- "I'm sure that's a ringing endorsement for healthy eating -- shitting your pants!  HAHAHAHA!" 

At this point, Cal is chiming in with the insults. 

Cal -- "I haven't even sharted since like last year!"

Gwen -- "Whatever, you got that parasite in Oklahoma at the lake this past summer -- you sharted in August.  And at least I was there for you when you did!!!!  Remember?  I told you not to wear those white shorts the first day of school?!?!?  See, I HELPED YOU.  Y'all are traitors."

Scott -- "I don't believe for a second avocados made you shit your pants." 

Gwen -- "It wasn't a fully formed TURD per se... it was more of a jello-like consistency, similar to that of smooshed avocado.  It's the avocado's fault."

Scott --  (quoting one of our favorite Saturday Night Live skits) "Imagine this pitcher of ice tea is really a gallon of your feces!" 

Gwen -- "SHUT UP!!!!!  There was hardly ANY!!!!!"

Scott -- "Still counts as a shart, no matter what size."

Gwen -- "You are an asshole."

Cal -- "I can't believe you sharted!  NASTYYYYYYYY!"

So by this point, the ol' ego has taken QUITE a blow.  We happen to get together with a few family members who I'm sure would like to remain anonymous at this juncture, and I broach the subject gently by asking, "So, ummmm, when was the last time you sharted?  I mean, if you're willing to divulge that private information..."  I trail off.  Liar #1 replies, "Are you serious?  I'm not sure I EVER have... Have you been doing your Kegels???  You know that also tightens up your rectal muscles as well..."  I retort, "Wait a second, I don't have control issues, I just thought I had to fart!"  I re-ask the question of the other person.  He replies, "Man, that's the shits!  I don't remember?"... Pansies.  Afraid to admit it, I'm sure of it.  Then Scott razzes Liar #2 about one time they were working up on a roof together & Liar #2 strains himself and then announces, "OH MAN, I think I just shit my pants.  I'd rather get kicked in the balls than shit my pants.  I'll be right back..."  And then he hastily retreated to the shitter, walking in that oh-so-awkward, bow-legged, short-strided kind of way.  Classic shart.  Good times!

I thought the convo/excessive taunting had died days ago, but it unfortunately resurfaced with a vengeance yesterday.  We've been having some digestive issues with Mrs. Pocket.  She has always strained very hard to poop, and I've always said it was because she was full of shit like her father.  Due to her Cerebral Palsy, she has increased tone in all the muscles of her body, including the intestinal tract.  As you've read about in previous crappy posts, our Lola relies heavily on The Shit Whisperer to help her "get the job done."  We wanted to be sure we weren't missing anything regarding her health, so I put in a call to her pediatrician to discuss her dookie in-depth.  After much discussion, we decided that likely it's just her super high tone in her rectum/anus preventing things from easily exiting.

I asked about Botox injections to the asshole.  The doctor laughed out loud & said she could check on that.  I recount this to Scott later...

Gwen -- "I asked the doctor about why she strains so much to go, and she thinks it is likely just her super powers to blame.  You know, her incredible strength/tone."

Scott -- "HA!  So what do you do about that?"

Gwen -- "Well, I'm gonna try a few strategies diet and supplement-wise, but mostly, we just have to deal with it." 

Scott -- "I'm glad it's not something more... asshole surgery would be the shits."

Gwen -- "HA!  Yeah, I even asked about Botoxin' up her sphincter... Dr. A laughed but said she could check on it... I'm concerned about that though, because if Botox completely relaxed her anal muscles, wouldn't she just repeatedly shit herself?!?!?  Course, maybe that would be a good thing?!"

Scott -- "Yeah, then she'd be just like you!!!!!!!  HAHAHHAHAHHAHHAHA!" 

Gwen -- "I hate you."

I guess the moral of the story is... don't eat avocados. 

Kidding!  I love avocados, and I am pretty sure their health benefits & my enjoyment of both them and guacamole are WORTH the occasional shart.  FA SHO.

So maybe the real moral is that in order to be REALLY safe, you may need to sport some of these:  (be sure to hit PAUSE on the Playlist below)

I hope that this super embarrassing, wayyyyy TMI post helps you to not only analyze your own bowels, but also the sphincters of those you care about deeply.  Don't be afraid to ask your spouse/partner/significant other/kids/dear friends about their shart attacks, though preferably not at dinner.  I guarantee you that just like with actual sharting, the response you get will be more than you bargained for!!!

CHEERS!  And you're welcome.

I leave you with this hideous display...
We clearly must be drawn to sharts & skids, because this is an actual pair of compression shorts that Scott almost tried on not too long ago... luckily Yours Truly, AKA Eagle Eye, spotted the calamity & averted impending danger.  Ahhhhh yes.  Always looking out for others (unlike Scott & Cal... HA!).  I also kindly took the dump-filled shorts to the nice lady at Sports Authority & let her know she MAY want to "red flag" (and yes, I did air quote) these bad boys, as clearly they'd been sharted in quite some time ago, judging by the dried-on turds.  Shockingly, she didn't even crack a grin, grabbed them & went on about her day.  REALLY?! 

The dilemma then, for Scott, Cal & I, was trying to figure out if these had been sharted in while in-store in a dressing room (and then subsequently -- and carefully! -- rehung back up on a hanger by the offender -- or did an unsuspecting sales associate almost get a handful?!) or had these actually been bought, taken home, sharted in & then successfully returned?  This is vexing!

And seriously, you'd actually go try on/wear WHITE compression shorts at a time when you thought you MIGHT possibly be volatile enough to accidentally drop a deuce?  Ballsy indeed.  Needless to say, we three are scarred for life.


Friday, January 06, 2012

Man's Best Friend

Cal got this hilarious birthday card, entitled "Awkward Family Pet Photos," from my bestie, Steph.  HA!  What a great way to start your day... an early morning teabagging...oops!  I mean... wake-up call!!!  AWKWARD indeed... LOVE IT!

"Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole."
~Roger Caras

My dogs have always held a very special place in my heart.  I remember getting my first dog at age 9.  I KNEW I wanted a poodle, and I KNEW I'd name her Cocoa.  NO MATTER WHAT.  All because I loved that show "Fame" on TV (not the new Fame movie... haven't seen it yet, but I'm POSITIVE I'll be disappointed...HA!) and Coco was my favorite character.  She was a badass, and I dug it.  And she could DANCE!
Meet our Cocoa, AKA "Cam."  (toward the end of her 16 years, she went deaf, and the only thing she could hear was loud, low voices, so we'd muster up our DEEPEST, LOUDEST voice, and we'd bellow out, "CAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMM!"  And she'd come running!)  I loved her SO MUCH.  She was so smart that one time, Scott told her to "get up on the fireplace, Caaaaaaaaam!" and she turned around, looked at the fireplace, had NEVER gotten up there before in her entire life, but walked to it, jumped up on it, and then looked back at us like, "Yeah, now what, jackwipe?"  She was THE BEST dog.  I miss her so...
Mom, baby Cal (Ummm... look at his humongo-like melon!  That head's freaky-huge!!!) & me (hello 1990's!  WOW.  Sweet overalls, curled bangs, and Doc Martens, Gwen.  Lordy!  I look 14 (!), but for the record, I was 24.) with our 5 pooches... Cocoa, Zoe, Pre, Max, & Halley. 
Artwork by Brett Longley, an amazing artist friend of ours from Minnesota.  He painted our Halley years ago, and we've always treasured this painting.  We lost our Halley in August 2010.  We still miss her a lot, and even just this morning I teared up remembering how she cried a real tear as we told her goodbye the day she had to be put to sleep.  One of the hardest things I've EVER had to do.  I love you and miss you SO MUCH, Miss Hal!!! 
Halley & Pre, our Italian Greyhounds
Pre, our old boy... now 14.5 years old!  We have been through SO MUCH with him over the past 3-4 years... several scenarios which were "likely cancer" and "likely fatal."  Trips to Kansas State for biopsies/treatments.  He is SO TOUGH.  And yet SO HERE still.  And we are SOOOOO grateful for that!  Love you, sweet boy!
Romeo (AKA "Capricorn"... don't ask why!)  We LOVE this boy.  He completed our family!

I could barely shoot this picture, I was laughing SO HARD at the fact Romeo was just SOOOOOO exhausted, he couldn't continue to stand ON his back, left foot, but just tucked it under to "kick back" and relax while resting "Captain Winkie" on our chair.  How precious.  HA!  He cracks me up DAILY.  I am SO infatuated with him & SO a whippet lover now!!!  (Whip it -- ummm, WHIPPET?! -- good!)

Our Romeo is pretty much a stuffed animal stalker.  We started out buying him fancy toys from the pet stores, but after seeing the carnage of his chewing efforts, we opted to buy him cheap, $0.25 stuffed, non-bean-filled toys from garage sales instead.  That way, when he destroyed them (which he ALWAYS does!), we'd not be out that money.  We could just toss the toy vs. feeling compelled to try to jury-rig it back to one piece/reattach a head or limb/etc.  That worked out well until he started ingesting the "innards" of the toy.  It became painful watching him try to shit out stuffing, so we opted to buy those expensive, spineless, stuffing-less toys from the store.  So far, so good...  Oh, and we try to find the dorkiest possible toys we can, as it seems fitting for this family.   And his chewing IS better now that he's 3 years old, so we hoped we were golden now.

Until this week with the new Christmas victims toys.  Sad to say that I stumbled into the bedroom to find THIS sad state of affairs a few days ago...
I was *SO RELIEVED* that top left one wasn't a turd, as it appeared at first glance!  WHEW!

Poor bastard.  That used to be a cute little bunny!

No love here... just a straight-up DECAPITATION.  Well played, Romeo.  You really showed this world a thing or two.

All I've got to say is... BAD CAT (we call Romeo "Cat" due to his cat-like stripes & evil feisty ways...)

More shots of previous massacres...
Formerly Mr. Fox...
Supposedly "indestructible" and "for heavy chewers," this Moosey is made out of FIRE HOSE?!?!?  It crinkled and proved to be "the one to take down," as Romeo worked persistently on this guy to prove he was Top Dog.
Mr. Baseball Head clearly lost the battle (all with one arm tucked inside his broken-down body & a super dumb-looking smile on his bloated face).
Faceless gorilla... boo-yah!
Nice beaver... "Thanks, just had it stuffed!"  (or unstuffed, in this case... hahahhaaha!)
He feels bad about it... He can't even LOOK at me!
See?  I'm PERFECT!!!!  What'd I DO???

"You think dogs will not be in heaven?
I tell you, they will be there long before any of us."
~Robert Louis Stevenson

Rest in peace, little Zoe (my Mom & Dad's doggie -- my "sister!")... you will be missed. 

For song information and video, visit here.

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