And it's starting to happen, just as I always knew it would. I can hear her rustling dogtags tags as though she were right in the next room, shaking her collar. Or hear what seems to be her heavy breathing as she sleeps, and sometimes I even think that I've just caught a gimpse of her in the corner of my eye as I'm entering or leaving a room. And ALWAYS my left eye, it seems; never the other.
Sometimes I just wake up in the middle of the night, and feel her presence nearby.
And for thirteen years it always was....
And then, of course, two months ago now we finally had to say goodbye. She waits for me now at the foot of the Rainbow Bridge, and someday sooner or later we shall join each other there, and once again be united in the Spirit as we cross over together into whatever awaits us next.
Does that sound too conventional? Almost naive and childish, like pie in the sky when we die? A boy and his dog, frolicking again on a sundrenched meadow, running and playing fetch on an endless summer day, and feeling young and happy and alive again....
Or maybe it's a beach, and the muddy tideflats of a place like Camano Island? A boy and his dog in the bathtub, watching the dirt stream off of her and leaving me only with a pouting, but clean-smelling pooch with shampooed, fluffy fur and dog-tired from her romp?
What does it matter? I am so thankful for those years, and if that's the most comforting measure of eternity I can summon up, why should I criticize or judge it?
Instead I thank God for the great gift of this animal. As I have written here before, I am a better person now as a result of my relationship with this dog, and my decision to bring her into my life and care for her. To feed her, shelter her, groom her and take her to and from the vet: to be her "master" (or perhaps, more accurately, the leader of the "pack"), no matter how childlike it may seem.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
a note on the photo -- this picture was taken in 2001 while I was on my way from Nantucket to my first Thanksgiving with my brother in Connecticut. It was seven years ago, ten weeks after 9/11....half a lifetime for Parker, as well as the year my nephew was born. How much water has flown under the bridge since then....
2 comments:
Beautiful post -- something to treasure for others as well as yourself.
Raven never slept with me -- Victor (the older cat) wouldn't let her -- but she followed me around the neighborhood like a faithful puppy. She liked to vanish on her own adventures, but faithfully turned up again for the next meal.
Two weeks ago, when it became clear he wouldn't be reappearing, I started sleeping intensively during my time at home. It was too hard to keep passing the doors and windows without that little face and voice.
I told you that was going to happen!!
Lisa
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