“How many summers does a little dog have?” poet Mary Oliver asks in her 2013 collection, “Dog Songs.” I usually mark lines that strike me with a Post-It note. Here there was no need. I carried it away, indelible as a tattoo.
The question, well, I almost said it haunts me. But that’s over-dramatic. The question sits there like an unwelcome visitor in a waiting room, briefcase jammed with sorrow on its knees, looking around impatiently, tapping the face of its wristwatch.
I thought of the line again recently, meeting Bella, a Bichon mix, like my Kitty. In front of the Northbrook Public Library. She was very thin and shaky and clearly not long for this world.
“How old?” I asked, the usual dogwalker’s question, freighted with more than the usual significance.
“Eighteen,” the owner, a lady about my age, replied.
Kitty is 13. So five years. Relief. And concern. How fast does five years go? Will it be more? Or less? How many summers does a little dog have?
In the past, when I thought of Kitty’s ultimate end, I sought shelter in a facile line. “I’m hoping to go before she does.” Now that seems too glib. Some pains demand anticipation. Luckily, pet owners now have a whole book to prepare and brace us: “The Book of Pet Love & Loss: Words of Comfort & Wisdom from Remarkable People,” by Sara Bader, a gorgeous volume intended to both celebrate our love of companion animals and bring solace when bereavement comes.
“How do we make sense of the desolation that sets in so quickly?” the author asks.
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Beautiful
ReplyDeleteBeautiful post. "My Octopus Teacher" (Netflix) also explores the intense bond between a person and a highly intelligent animal from youth to death.
ReplyDeleteProfound grief when our pets die is the price of love. This is something (the only thing?) that MAGA and WOKE and all of us in between can agree on. Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.
ReplyDeleteI would imagine many of your readers have owned many pets through the years. It has always been my job to bring our terminal pets to the vet to be "put to sleep".
ReplyDeleteAfter doing this many, many times I learned a few things.
It never gets easier but the grieving time afterward shortens.
We also learned that waiting for the "right time" is not doing anyone any good. Everyone suffers for a longer period of time. When it gets to the point when your pet is suffering, has a very difficult time with normal activities with no hope of improving... it's time.
Unlike in most states, the pets are the lucky ones. We humans have to suffer when we are terminal, in pain, and have lost dignity.
My first personal pet as a semi-adult was a grey cat named Banquo, who I think Neil will remember with affection as well perhaps. Got him from a shelter as a kitten and took him for an annual vet visit one year later. There was someone in the waiting room waiting to have their cat put to sleep. She looked me straight in the eye and said something along the lines of, "The time with them goes so quickly." It was like a curse from a fairy, but probably made me appreciate Banquo that much more in his 22 years. Great book concept!
ReplyDeleteI was 14 when our Collie, Champ was lost to his wanderlust. Told he was dead but not sure about the messenger, our grief was twofold. He was gone but the circumstances were possibly criminal, we'll never know. He was loved by all, even other neighbors who endured his entreaties to let their females come out to play. Even the police knew him and would return him home rather than impound him. Izzy having one last walk with her friend warms my heart even as I remember being deprived of a similar goodbye. Thanks for a great column, reminding us that there is hope for us after all.
ReplyDeleteYou have exposed your big heart. You have also allowed us to be less embarrassed by our melancholy about our dogs' abbreviated lifelines. I have said too many farewells. I can recommend veterinarian Dr. Amir Shanan as a counselor and cohort when pets are winding down. He can stabilize the health of a pet and help the owners (family?) to come to acceptance. He is an angel. My old Lab was a Bad Dog for 8 years, and an angel for her last 8. I could not bear to let go of the new and improved Mabel, despite the fact that it was a task for her to even walk. I was willing to sleep on the couch, place ramps over steps, cook her eggs and feed her by hand. I knew her time was at hand. I worried about dignity and peace for her 95 pound body if she died at home. I was not ashamed of my out of scale grief, and his kindness made our very hard day tolerable. I don't know if this is permissible, but here is his contact information: https://www.pethospicechicago.com/ Your readers might want to keep it on file.
ReplyDeleteI know there are people who won't get a new pet after losing one because of the heartache. But I have found that the rhythm of my day revolves around them in ways I didn't realize before they were gone. I need that void filled and so I start again. The new do not replace, but complement, and the joys outweigh the sadness.
ReplyDeleteWe have our very own pet cemetery in the front yard. Thirty years of kitties. The longest-lived was Mazel Tuff Cocktail, our tortie. She slept away at twenty. Which is about 97 in human years.
ReplyDeleteI have this bad habit. As each of our felines gets older, I occasionally think: "How long? How much time left? This beautiful creature is going to die one day." I get sad. (Then I make sure to kiss them and pet them.) You know that you'll most likely outlive them, as soon as they first enter your life, but you do it anyway. It's a major design flaw in our pets..and one that can never be fixed..
Whoever said that adopting a pet means signing on for heartbreak was right. The time with them goes by so fast. It doesn't march on...it runs. They bring us thousands of good days, and only a handful of bad ones (mostly as their lives end), which makes the ending worth the hole in the heart.
For a while, you "see" them in all the old familiar places, just like the old song says. On the bed, on the love seat, in a corner of the closet, at the food dish. You miss their physical presence...and their good company...even when another animal companion comes along..That is the highest tribute one can pay to them...that they were good company.
Congrats on the inclusion of Gizmo in this new book, Mr. S. I am going to look for it. The period of sadness and grief never gets easier...but it does seem to pass more quickly. Like everything else when you age. I find it amusing that your dog is named Kitty. We called one of our cats Daugh. Not as in canine. It was short for Daugherty.
I never had dogs when I was a kid and then I got one as soon as I moved out of the house. Beautiful black chow. After he passed, I didn't get another dog until my kids were grown. Now I have two to go along with our two goats and currently 10 chickens. I got to say surprisingly the goats are much like pets as well. The chicken's not so much. I don't know what we're going to do when we move to New Mexico this fall and have to sell the goats. Nobody would ever sell their dog or I don't know. Maybe some people do. I would find it weird. I'm going to find it weird to sell the goats when I get home from work and I sit on the milking stand. They nuzzle me and they're just ready for some petting and a treat. It's been a wild ride with these farm animals. I really enjoy it. It definitely gives a rhythm to your life. That is appreciated along with the eggs and milk and cheese and everything else
ReplyDeleteCleansing tears; thanks for this.
ReplyDeletesame here-and now my grandkids get to go thru this with their sweet kitten-never easy
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