If You're Lucky...

If you’re lucky, you’ve had your heart broken by the loss of a beloved pet.  Yep, that’s what I said, lucky.  In the moment, it is impossible to feel fortunate as your heart is broken, but you are.  You are so lucky to have had that unconditional love and wordless connection for the fleeting period of time that is your pet’s life.  The painful hole in your chest that comes with loss is there because the furry little bugger burrowed deep into your being. Then she must leave you, and in her absence a big, fat, cavernous hole that you think is going to swallow you up.  But it won’t, because you are so lucky to have all of those great memories to fill that hole, and your pet can reside there forever.  Right there.

Some of us lose our furry loved ones suddenly, in an accident or disappearance.  Some of us watch life leave their bodies and their eyes incrementally, wondering how many days or hours we have left with our companion until they are gone.  We find logical things to make us feel better, “She lived a long and full life” or “Thank goodness it was quick and she didn’t know what happened.”  But it hurts just the same - real bad.  The fact is, we are stuck with the ridiculous reality that our pets’ life spans are limited to a fraction of our own, therefore the loss is unavoidable.

Forgive my emotional meanderings as I sit on the floor next to my best friend.  My girl is labradorable in every sense.  My fearless trail running partner in her youth, leading the pack over hills and through streams.  My joyful partner around the house, flashing her big brown eyes in hopes of tasty acknowledgements. And more recently on tail-wagging strolls through the neighborhood.  Of course she has always been the guardian of the night, snoozing at my bedside to ensure the family’s safety from raccoons and squirrels lurking in the trees outside the window.  

I believe that our pup’s joy and playful spirit is what has brought her well beyond the average life expectancy of her large breed.  Her head was too hard to be damaged by the deer that gored her (rather than be chased by a silly dog), and the determination to explore every trail kept her bad knees moving along.  Up until three weeks ago people were calling her “puppy” on the trail, consistently shocked to learn her real age in human years - a hair shy of 15.

Unfortunately, the Doc confirmed the worst last week.  She has cancer demons attacking her organs.  Those little suckers, like tiny lilliputians tying her down one thread at a time, are weighing her down and robbing her of her voracious appetite.  My dog loved to eat.  Even a few days ago roasted chicken was the magic that would get her tail thumping, but now we are running out of tasty tricks.  The most delectable meats, canned food and even peanut butter have her turning her nose.  She watches with hope and desire when I open the fridge, but turns away in queasy disappointment at each offering.

My girl still takes comfort in our presence and her eyes twinkle with happiness when we gently stroke her ears.  Her joyful personality is still sparkling, although in progressively smaller ways.  Our goal is to do everything we can to bring out the precious eye-twinkle with affection and the occasional perfect treat.  When there is no more twinkle we must let her go, in peace.

Even though I feel like I have a grenade in my chest, and the anticipation of pulling the pin is about killing me, I still feel like the luckiest person on the planet.  Fortunate because I have had the honor of loving, and being loved by, this beautiful dog.  I will carry her with me always.  I am very lucky indeed.