Fuck epilepsy. And no, I won’t apologize for my language.

I had been looking forward to writing a post in a few weeks to mark the 1st anniversary of Cian’s epilepsy diagnosis. Not because that was something to celebrate, but because his life since then was something to celebrate. I would have talked about the fact he was thriving and living large despite the monster lurking in the shadows. That post would have been full of hope. I would have told you how Cian spent the weekend of the farm trial being the sort dog. How he was really learning the job of working in the chute and finally hit a heel. How more and more, each day, he did something so Jig-like it was scary. I would have laughed about his two special friends, both named Sunni, who he loved to wrestle and romp with. How each morning he waited for me to toss him an ice cube so he could play with it in the kitchen while I got my lunch together for work How every day, he made me smile.

Instead, I’m writing this post now and it’s full of anger and heartbreak because the fucking monster won. It leapt out of the shadows with a vengeance and in the space of a weekend the only thing we could do was let our little man go.

That was, by far, the hardest thing I have ever done.

I always knew the monster would win someday. The fury with which it hit last year, and the way it never quite gave us peace, rearing its head any time we started to relax just a bit, always terrified me. I just never expected it would take him so soon. I thought we’d have years before us. I thought I would get to watch Cian blossom and grow. He had already become my go-to dog for sorting and bringing in the stock and was such an easy dog to be around. He ignored Dillon’s repeated attempts to get him to fight, deferred to Jig when playing ball, and tried to engage almost every dog he met in a game of ‘grab your feet’.

Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith… It is the price of Love.

Cian’s time with us was far too short and it was so incredibly hard to let him go. Still, through the tears are the memories, the smiles, the lessons he tried to teach me which I am trying very hard to hold onto. Mainly, Cian tried to teach me to live in the moment and approach each day with gusto and enthusiasm. I’m crap at doing that, but I’m going to keep trying.

This isn’t the post I wanted to be writing. It’s the post I have to write. And so I’m going to tell you how Cian’s life was something to celebrate. How he spent the weekend of the farm trial being the sort dog. How he was really learning the job of working in the chute and finally hit a heel. How more and more, each day, he did something so Jig-like it was scary.

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I’m going to laugh as I tell you about his two special friends, both named Sunni, who he loved to wrestle and romp with.

How each morning he waited for me to toss him an ice cube so he could play with it in the kitchen while I got my lunch together for work How each and every day, he made me smile.

Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. ~Dr. Seuss

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