It's a dog's life

Picked up Parker's ashes Saturday morning at the Vets, and paid off the last two hundred and change of that bill...and was already feeling relieved that I'd decided to change topics and preach about Parker rather than Cristobal Colon, because even though I had a fantastic title ("To Cross the Wide, Wild Ocean") and a fantastic theme, I think I would have pretty much been at a loss to talk about anything else. Saying goodbye to Parker was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make, but it really was her time to go -- and the longer I sit with my decision the more convinced I am it was the right one. I know she would have done and endured just about anything I asked her to -- but she was in an awful lot of physical pain (a lot more, I think, than I was willing to admit at the time), and now that I have been free for awhile of both the physical and the emotional burden of caring for her, I'm starting to appreciate just how heavy that burden really was on both of us.



She hated the indignity of wearing the diaper; she hated the fact that she had lost the use of both of her hind legs, and had developed terrible open pressure sores on both elbows from trying to scoot herself around (sores that simply wouldn't heal no matter how carefully I tried to doctor them)...and when I start to spell it out like this, I realize just how deeply in denial I truly was. Every morning when we got up she would give me this sad look that seemed to say -- "Please make this better, but don't hurt me again." It just got to the point that putting her to sleep really was the best that I could do. So even though I've always hated that euphemism, in all honesty that was EXACTLY how it felt...like she had just gently fallen asleep in my embrace. And having witnessed that, no doubt when my time comes close, I'll be moving back to Oregon so that I can also take advantage of my right to "die like a dog."



And she hasn't gone far. Not only are her ashes only a few feet behind me (on top of a bookshelf in front of my model sailboat and beside my Patrick O'Brian novels), I can still feel her presence in me and all around me -- not just in my heart but here in the room and by her crate and in the round pillow at the foot of my bed where she slept these last few weeks and months of her life.... Such an amazing influence she has had on my entire existence over the past 13 years. I am literally a better human being because of my relationship with this dog. And that's kind of odd and funny in its own right. But comforting too. And now even from beyond the grave, she still brings me joy and solace....God love her.

Yes, yes, yes...she was amazing: they are ALL amazing. And whether or not I ever have another depends a lot more on the state of MY health than it does any concern about risking the grief of loving (and losing) once again. In the meantime, I am planning to be quite promiscuous about loving other people's animals, and look forward to petting quite a few in days and weeks and months to come. I feel as if that entire period of my life has now come to a full and comfortable conclusion, and I am free both to embrace the memory of it with both joy and sorrow, and also to begin moving forward to whatever awaits me next. Do dogs have souls? Absolutely! And the consuming grief we feel in mourning the passing of an animal has to do with the fundamental intellectual inequality of that relationship, which leaves us to do so much of the thinking and mental "processing" of the experience, while our critters look up to us with those big trusting eyes that seem to say "make this right, make this right" and then count on us to do the right thing. It wasn't easy, but I know that I have done the right thing...and I will sleep peacefully with that decision at least, even as I selfishly miss her company.