Little memories

Faith no longer rests at the front door when I leave in the morning. The sense of the house being protected, of my world being safe, is gone. She no longer comes to the entry of the kitchen when I come home, her tail wagging and her whole body wiggling with anticipation.

Sophia no longer curls up in the chair next to my bed, close enough to touch, watch and be whispered to, apart enough to keep her dreams separate from mine. Never far from me, often seeming to be inside my head. I had so many conversations with her, and she seemed to understand what I told her.

Mascot no longer waits on the end of my bed, knowing that her insulin is routine and inevitable. Knowing, too, that she could rub that certain point right behind her ear against my thumb for as long as she wants. Her purr is both a statement and a beacon – I could locate her almost anywhere in the house when she purred, and half the dogs never could figure out whether they should enjoy her purring or fear it.

Bandit no longer beats me to the door, any door, in or out, to be sure she isn’t left behind. I have never before nor since had a dog so comfortable – and determined – about riding in the car. Nor one who did such a good job of letting me know exactly what she wanted or needed.

There have been other dogs and cats before these, their loss just as painful, their lives just as enriching, but most of them came before I was fully formed. There was so much I just didn’t get when I was younger.

There are so many little things I appreciate now – Domino trying to burrow the top of his head into my thigh, Hagar always prepared for take-off, Duffy always checking in to make sure I’m still okay. And Minco, sweet, goofy Minco, standing for a hug that he wants but won’t ask for, always being sure to do a breath check first thing in the morning, making sure, especially since Faith is gone, to keep me in his sight so that I will be safe. I can tell that he’s not convinced he should let me leave in the morning, though at lunchtime he’s ready to shoo me out so he can nap.

I have now, and I have had, some truly amazing dogs and cats in my life. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I know that I am and there are days when my heart is full of wonder at the love and joy embodied in these animals. If I get really lucky, perhaps someday I will learn to be like them.

A Fare-Thee-Well

Yesterday evening I had to say good-bye to my 11 1/2 year-old Pyr, Faith.

She helped more than a few dogs in her day, whether in transport or foster. Though she was the least likely to play of any of my dogs, it was to her that one special Berner boy made his first play bow, when we didn’t know at first whether we would ever be able to draw him out of his shell of fear.

Faith came to me from the local shelter, intended as a companion for my BARC Beauty Sophia. They quickly became fast friends, and they made sure that all other dogs coming to their house knew the rules. She was true to her breed, keeping me and our property safe from all manner of trucks, buses, birds and planes. We NEVER had a plane land in our driveway!

Age and years of property management caught up with her, she spent the past few years on monthly Adaquon shots and Salmon oil seemed to ease some of her cognitive issues, but a recent infection recurred and may have had an impact on her liver and gall bladder. X-rays indicated that her hips and knees were failing, making the option for gall bladder surgery more problematic.

She refused to tell me that it was time for her to go. To the end, she was trying to protect me at her own expense. But I told her that I would do what was right for her, and I know that was what I did.

Three of my dogs are fine, but my ASD/Pyr mix, who was her closest companion after we lost Sophia, is taking it hard. But I know he will help me keep my promise to Faith tonight that I would be fine. He’s sneakiy that way, making sure that I don’t have time to wallow. He will keep me grounded, Berner Hagar will keep me laughing and Duffy and Domino will make sure that I PAY ATTENTION!!!

Run and spin with abandon, dear Faith. You were greatly loved all eleven years I got to share with you, and I will carry you in my heart until we meet again.

States of Being

Sometimes it seems that my dogs are not five separate organisms, but parts of one whole. When something is off balance with one part, the whole organism shifts.

I have been surprised the past couple of days, while my sweet Pyr is being treated at the vet’s office, by the behavior of my other dogs. Usually, if I get home later than normal, I am greeted with great enthusiasm and vocalization. I can feel the whole house bouncing and vibrating. But not this week.

This week, the dogs have made perfucntory barks and little else. They have made their way to the door and outside with fair haste, but not with the same drive. They know Faith is ill, they know their world is out of balance.

I don’t know whether this time balance can be restored.

I know that with or without Faith, we will go on. We will find a new balance.

I wonder how long it will take for us to find enthusiasm and joy in that new balance.

If she comes through this illness, she will be a far more elderly, frail dog than she would ever have expected to be. Her dignity will be important to all of us. She will have to supervise someone else keeping the yard safe from buses, birds and planes.

Life changes. Organisms have an ebb and flow.

I feel so lucky to live within the aura of this organism.

Winning?

What an odd concept winning is. It suggests triumph, glory, vanquishment. And losing. Usually not the same entity that won, but that happens occasionally, too.

Why don’t we focus on improving all, instead of the tiny bits and pieces we clutch so tightly to our breasts? Why does someone have to suffer for me to have some small gain of whatever kind? Why do some people work so hard to make others look small so that they can feel big?

I know, there have been times that I have badly wanted to squash someone else’s argument like it (or they) were a bug. But even when I have won arguments like that, it doesn’t make me a better person. Far from it.

I love those people who can make sure that everyone wins – I’m not talking about “everyone gets a certificate, now aren’t we all just so special” winning, I’m talking about everyone having ownership in a success, in progress, in a gain. Even those who threw up roadblock to that success – their arguments may have made the foundation stronger, the path more focused, the final product better tested and true.

Yet some only can feel good if those around them feel bad. I don’t understand it. I would think that would be a tense, anxious way of living, always having to make sure no one is digging too far out of their hole.

Life can be hard sometimes, and work can be competitive. So what? Aren’t we here to achieve a common goal? Let’s get on with it,  and enjoy together everyone’s contribution toward making that goal a reality.

Share the joy!

Please.

Quiet days, lessons to learn

Yes, I have been quiet for quite a while. Work keeps me very busy and the dogs keep me sane. Unless they’re driving me crazy.

As I watch them age, I marvel at how they live their lives. They are so much in the moment that it is hard for most people to fathom.

They remember the past but don’t obsess about it, they anticipate what’s next but don’t worry about it. They simply “are,” right here, right now.

They take joy in the little things, a scratch behind an ear, tracking the flight of a butterfly across the year (and always out of reach), fence running with the neighbor’s dogs – there is no malice in their barking and running, just making their opinions known.

Each day is a wonderful, treasured gift, a new adventure, an opportunity for joy.

Some days I worry that my days with them are numbered, I cannot imagine my life without them. Then I realize that they aren’t worried about any of that, they only know that we are here now, together, with a chance to play and rest and enjoy these moments. Worrying and grieving too soon get in the way of that.

I may be a slow study, but I am learning. They are good teachers.

I hate politics

Partisan politics may well be the death of our nation. The bickering and posturing and unwillingness to do what is right for the NATION rather than for some ill-defined special-interest constituency leaves us with few grown-ups in the room.

If the primary interest of both parties is to make each other look bad, instead of working on the budget and protecting the most vulnerable among us (instead of the wealthy and the aircraft manufacturers), then we need to cut off THEIR salaries and expense accounts.

What does it cost to maintain a Congress Critter for a day? What is the cost of their office space, their salaries, their benefits (and why do they get health care coverage that is out of the reach of most Americans?) What is the cost of their staffs? Their travel? Their security details? Their hangers-on? I’d rather pay the military wages and Social Security benefits than keep Congress’s lights on when there’s nobody home (no matter how many of the so-called legislators may be in the chamber).

Just once, I would like to see Congress act in the best interest of our nation and its future. Not the Speaker’s future, not with the election in mind, but just for once do what’s right.

I won’t hold my breath.

Time and again

Time is the commodity that is most stretched to the limit, the most easily thrown away yet the most precious we have.
One of the things I love about my dogs is their ability to live in the moment. They’re not worried about tomorrow and they are not nostalgic for yesterday. They’re right here, right now, and they want to make the most of it.
Too often it takes tragedy to make us remember the value in each moment. Who among us hasn’t thought “If only I had…?” when it is certainly too late.
And I hate having regrets!
So I shall continue to strive to be the person my dogs believe me to be. I won’t be perfect, but then who expects that? I will try to be more conscious of seizing the moment, relishing the scents in the air, the sunlight on the budding leaves, the feel of soft fur against my cheek, the enticement of wubbas and tennis balls and sticks thrown about the yard.
Every day is a good day as long as we remember to smile with our hearts.

Choosing joy

It has been just a little more than a year since we lost my Dad. There are still the occasional waves of sadness and loss, but mostly there are smiles and gratitude.
Smiles because of the love and care he lavished on his family. He was not particularly demonstrative, but we always knew he was there for us and that he would help us learn and grow. And we always knew that he loved us.
And he loved dogs, especially our dogs – first the dogs we got when I was three, and then the dogs his daughters acquired over the years. Even on those days he was confused or in pain, his face would light up when one of us was there with a dog or two.
I miss him terribly, and I always will, but he also taught me the importance of joy, in the big things, certainly, but especially in the little things.
The sound or a tennis ball hitting square in the middle of the strings,
The sight of a moose calmly walking through the woods (as long as we were out of range),
The lovely patterns of the petals of a rose opening to the morning sun,
The grace of a dog running with abandon just for the sake of running. With joy.
My father rarely spoke of any hardships or troubles or sadness. He chose to focus on the good things in this world and making as much as he could possible for as many people as he could – especially for his family.
He chose joy.
There is still sometimes a tear or two as I indulge in these memories, but more important is that I remember the love and the joy, not the sadness.
He taught us well.
I choose joy.

Dear Dad, redux

A year ago, I wrote a message about, and to, my father. What I did not know then was that within four months he would be gone.

This will be my first Fathers’ Day without him.

It is an odd feeling, not quite like being adrift, because he made sure his daughters could always keep our bearings, could always find solid ground. Not quite loss, because he will always be part of us, I see him every time I look at my sons, my nieces and nephew, my sisters. I feel his strength, his humor, his commitment throughout my daily life, in every decision that I make.

And I miss him.

I envy those who can give their fathers a hug, a kiss, a card on Fathers’ Day. I know that in many ways I am more fortunate than many in that my father was someone who gave all of himself to his family and keeping his family safe and secure and strong. His lessons will always be with me, as will be his smile, his laugh, his devotion.

I mentioned at his funeral service that he always made me feel that I had a guardian angel. I did. I do.

Though he is not here physically, I will still celebrate him this Fathers’ Day. With joy, and not a few tears. And marvel at my great good fortune of having him for my father.

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Like most everyone else, I will be reflecting this weekend (as I do often) on the impact my father has had on my life.

From him I got my stubborness, determination, obsession with detail and the need to plan. Though at times those traits drive even me nuts, they have also stood me in good stead for a very long time.

My father never tried to be anything he wasn’t. What you saw was who he was. The only time he has ever struggled with himself was during that period when he realized he could no longer manage complex finances, though he couldn’t understand why.

All of his life he has taken care of those around him, until the past few years when we have finally been able to return the favor. He took pride in being able to provide, and provide well, for his family, even in those years when thankless teenagers tried his patience no end. Even when he was disappointed or upset or even mildly disgusted by our choices or behavior, there was never any doubt, nor is there today, of his love for his family.

Perhaps the most important lesson I learned from him was to let my own children know that no matter what, I would support them and love them. I may not have liked all of their choices but they have my unconditional love and loyalty — and, just as my father has, I take great pride and joy in the wonderful people my children have become.

There is no way I can repay everything my father has given me, the foundation he has provided for my life. Except to pay it both forward and behind, to live my life with honor and compassion and loyalty and strength, a strength borne of knowing the difference between right and wrong, of hating evil done but forgiving those who make mistakes, offering a hand up and an open mind. I couldn’t have asked for a better role model.

Dad, thank you.

Dad, I love you.

With Thanks to My Family

I spent a lovely weekend with family recently. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.
Families aren’t perfect and I know how very lucky I am to have the family that I do!
But when I look from my parents’ generation to mine and then to our children, I’m not sure that luck has that much to do with it.
Love does.
Support does.
So does encouragement, curiosity, engagement, belief and so much more.
I genuinely like the people my own children, as well as my nieces and nephews, have grown up to be. Every one of them.
And when we all get together, there is such a wonderful, amazing sense of joy.
Its downright infectious!
To parents, siblings, children, nieces and nephews: Thank you.