Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The truth about love
The truth about love is that sometimes it can catch us unawares, creep in slowly and take root deeply without our knowledge. Last night, we gave our elderly dog Grey the long sleep. I feel heartbroken, and in truth, I am surprised. I was very fond of the fella whom we rescued indirectly from the Humane Society 2 years ago. Compassionate friends had picked him up when they went for a different dog, thinking a big old guy like him would never get adopted. But they had two other dogs already, 5 cats and 2 young foster children. I offered to give Grey a home to please A, who had wanted a dog for years. I liked him because of his quiet dignity, his grace, long legs, big soft ears and quiet, unassuming presence. I thought he's be rug-like, which he was, and make A happy, which he did. For 2 years we walked him many times a day, vacuumed incredible amounts of hair, took him on road trips (his fave) and spent lots of money on the vet, meds and a winter coat since he was prone to shivering. I was stoic throughout our growing awareness that it was soon his time to go, as he used the home more and more as his bathroom, as he couldn't get up well anymore, and as he panted with pain. I thought about how no one would look after him anymore, and I admit I thought about how much space and money we'd save with a baby coming. I prepared picture-gifts for his good friends the dog walkers and vet. I started to clean up his things. I emotionally carried A through bringing Grey for his last vet visit, cats in tow (so they could see him and grieve, and they did grieve in their way). I invented last rites for him, wet clay across his forehead and heart, and said a prayer 108 times throughout the day and at the last. I did cry at the vet's. Back home, we made a candle with special objects in it, and his hair at the bottom. We went to bed, and I gave A reiki to help her sleep (it had been a while, from the grief of knowing it was coming). Then, this morning, I got half-way to work, started crying and realized I couldn't stop. A wellspring deep within me started flowing out, images of me and Grey walking, of his sweet face, of the daily nothings. It would seem that I had to go back home and grieve like a Greek crone, waves of sound and tears coming forth from the realization that I really loved him. He was the best dog I could ask for. I miss him keenly. He introduced us to the neighborhood, taught us we could deal with substantial indoor poop with grace (which bodes well for parenting), and filled our hearts. Grey, you are such a gift to us, we have been so lucky. Rest In Peace, dear one.
E
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Emily, this is the most thoughtful and touching writing about Grey... I am sitting here wiping my eyes from it all... I have been thinking of you and Alice and hoping that you are managing as well as possible in this time... I send you big, warm hugs filled with much love... Annie.
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