The hovering is done. Death has been hanging around our hearts since last June when our beloved dog of 14 years had a stroke and since then, we have observed her becoming frail and senile. Stephen and I went to see Avatar at the Imax 3D theatre in Saco and were gone for 9 hours. The very next day when we woke up in the morning, she had another significant stroke. That followed a week of daily messing in the house...once she even pooped on her bed and then unwittingly laid down and slept on top of it. In her right mind, she would have been mortified for having an accident and would never have laid down as if nothing was there. Her ear-speak indicated a sadness and perhaps even a presence of pain. After talking about her end of life plan with the family, and calling the vet to discuss the developing situation, the moment for scheduling the appointment arrived. I was struck by the vast gulf between thinking about the moment and then the actual acting in the moment. All the talk and mental planning did nothing to ease the actual arrival of the moment. The other day she was here, lying on the rug...watching me cook with devoted eyes and hopeful glances sideways. She was asking to go out at dawn and coming in for the treat she lived for even in her vacant moments. She was circling around her bed and scratching up a measure of comfort, finding just the right place to plunk her aching body on.
Now she is gone.
How could I pre-realize the hole she would leave in my heart? How to prepare for the void in our house? The aftermath of putting her down has its own teaching, ebb and flow. The tide of grief rises, spills over and ebbs while I seek the treasures that were the gifts she brought to our time together on this Earth. She was like me in many ways. She was shy and tended to hang back before moving into the center of things. She wanted to be brave and friendly and with coaxing, she could be very social but there was a suspicious and fearful side to her nature. She would always meet a door and assume it was closed to her even if it was partially ajar. Over the years her courage grew and she managed to become more assertive...even pushing through a door that was closed if it would yield to her the push of her head. She looked for loving strokes but also enjoyed her private space. Her creature comforts were appreciated and her sweetness was domesticated. Moving to Maine put her in touch with her inner fox and she loved to roam the fields and paths at our home on the Bog Rd. Hershey was prone to jealousy...she would seek reassurance if Stevo or I started to talk to and make of Tico, the cockatiel. She was downright brokenhearted when we took in Mosey, a yellow lab puppy on a breeders agreement. It was for her peace and our pocketbook that we gave up the little lab who couldn't go near water because of skin problems. Over the past year, I have weaseled out of many social engagements to spend time with Hershey together at home. Her greatest gift to me was to bring us home...back to the green growing things of Earth and to the lush emerald green of unconditional love.
Now, when I take part in the Locals Challenge Race on Wednesday mornings and I stand in the start gate getting all tied up in nervous nelly knots...anticipating all the what-ifs and what-nots...becoming paralyzed by thinking too much, I think of Hershey opening the door with her head after all the years of waiting meekly for someone to open it for her. I think of her...free from the fears, free from the anxieties of being alone, free from the thoughts that hold her back and I drop into the race course. I just do it. I take one gate at a time until I cross the finish line...exhilarated and at play in the fields of the Lord.
