Mostly, it is loss which teaches us about the worth of things.
— Arthur Schopenhauer
Recently, I complicated my life again, but in a good way.
My most senior dog and working companion, Buddha Bear the Brindle Boxer, developed a brain tumor. When his seizures became too frequent and severe, we let him go respectfully. Each day my Facebook feed provides me with the posts of previous years. Everyday there is a picture of this grand, wise soul who became a service dog supporting workplaces, hospitals, hospices, and seniors. Buddha Bear was my wingman for our great life-adventures and my coach for calmness, playfulness, and unconditional love. Together, we rescued an abandoned dog, made a home for my mother in her last year of life, and grew our furry family to include a cat and other dogs. Buddha Bear made everyone he met more peaceful. I miss him daily.
After he passed, I received buckets of support and understanding. But there will never be another dog in my life like Buddha Bear. I have learned that you cannot replace one dog and their special imprint on your being with the same breed dog — or at least I cannot.
Buddha Bear mourned the passing of Big Boy, the dog we rescued together. For more than five years, the three of us were a full-fledged dog pack. Just weeks after Big Boy’s death from bone cancer, I was forced to have Buddha Bear’s tail docked because he missed Big Boy so much, he had literally worried his tail to pieces.
Knowing this, I decided I needed to bring home another dog to be company to Crook, the French Bulldog who had found us after Big Boy passed. I realized Crook would need a buddy when his hero Buddha Bear was no longer with us. Minster was to be his buddy-in-waiting.
I know. This story is a twisty road of dogs and cats, and coming and going — but it does have a lesson.
Quietly, we said our goodbyes in our cottage to Buddha Bear. Our pack included Crook and his new sidekick Minster, our vet Dr. Terry, Tracey, and our friend Miguel. The tears still flow thinking of how hard it is to watch a dog decline and how difficult it is to make the final decision to end his pain. A dog can’t tell you with their words that it will be okay. It is up to you to make that decision and to give them a graceful and respectful exit. My experience is that this decision was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. And yet, we learned to live each following day holding on to the love and lessons of Big Boy and Buddha Bear.
Four months later, a text arrived in the evening. In it was a picture of an English Bulldog puppy with the message, “Leslie, it is time.” How could this friend know that I have a soft spot for English Bulldogs? How could he know that my heart was yearning for another dog to join our family? He knows me and my capacity for love. He has his own dog family. And there was a dog looking for me.
That is how I have experienced my dog life. They find me at just the right time.
Yes, it really complicates life. But I recently said to a friend that every dog — puppy or grown pooch — is like securing a new graduate degree in emotional intelligence. I practice humility and control my anger when I step in fresh puppy poop while walking barefoot in the dark of the morning household.
Each day is a set of new lessons — everything is fresh for the puppy. He learns so quickly with the help of his two Frenchie brothers. It heightens my self-awareness of how I could be a better learner, listener, and observer.
We have new routines, challenges, and accidents. Yet, I hold onto the joy of the simple and uncomplicated bubble of love.
Yes, I have complicated my life, but I have enriched it, too. Thanks to the friend who helped a new dog to find me. We have named our English Bulldog Winston, but he answers to many nicknames, including Meatball, Houdini, Watson and Shadow). Together we are experiencing the entire world with fresh eyes. What a gift!
Winston comes into my life just as my writing partner, Randy, and I are midway through writing the third book in the Big Boy series of children’s books. Hello Good-bye: You left your footprints on my heart shares the Big Boy journey and the process of illness, death and the grief that follows.
My mother and my furry pack have taught me to love, live, and be in the moment; also to navigate the world of grieving. I am learning to let the love flow in the times we have for living and the times we have for dying without shutting down any part of me. I am still learning and growing in understanding the cycle of life and how to support both the birthing of new life and the letting go of things that are dying.
I find this cycle in my work and personal life, in organizations and in in human worlds. We are grieving many things these days. I hope to share how to carry this grief without letting it drown you.
Many people write about grief. Some say the depth of the grief is a reflection of the depth of the love. I get that.
But I think of it as its own operating system that demands my time and energy. I try to hug it close when it wells up in me and breathe through the tightness that it causes in my chest. I have grown accustomed to the tears that leak from my eyes and down my face like a quiet tropical rain storm. When they pass, my face is fresh and the moment often brings me closer to being the person who simply witnessed the storm.
I am learning to live with the grief that comes with living and dying; and with experiencing the full cycle of life.
My mother helped to teach me this in our last year together. Now, my beloved dogs are my teachers.
Some of the lessons they have shared include:
Trust and a dog will find you.
Love them as they unconditionally love you. Though their lives may be shorter than ours, for the time we are together we are their whole world.
Painful memories will pass, but the years of joy will remain with you. Keep your heart soft and open to finding the love of another animal.
Let your dogs, cats, and other animal buddies be the teachers in your life. They give us their best and leave us each day with a lesson about ourselves.
Writing this story has helped me embrace the fullness life. I look forward to sharing our next children’s book with you.
With the greatest respect,
Leslie
PS. When friends ask, “How many dogs do you plan to have?” I tell them, there is no plan. Then I say, “I had 225 pounds of dog between Big Boy and Buddha Bear, so I may keep going with these smaller breeds until I reach that threshold. And yes, if I do, I will need a farm.”
Death ends a life, not a relationship.
— Mitch Albom
.
Recent Comments