Saying Our Goodbyes is Never Easy

Doggie Love

"Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened."

                                                Anatole France

My good friend, Julie-dog, died yesterday. She was fourteen and a half years old. When Julie first came to live with us, we had a dog named Whiskers, who owned my heart. He was smart, and bad, and hilarious, and would play until he dropped. He could jump three feet straight up in the air. One of his favorite things was to jump up and catch hold of a rope swing hanging from a tree in the front yard. He would take a flying leap, grab the rope and swing by his teeth. Julie would run with him and bark, but she was not interested in hanging in a tree. Whiskers would fetch a tennis ball or a Frisby until your arm dropped off from throwing it. Even if you threw it into a pool or a lake, he'd swim out, grab it and, with his short little terrier legs, paddle back. Julie would run with him, but she was not about to jump into water to fetch a silly ball, so she'd stand on shore and bark until he returned.

They were a pair. Julie was not as smart, nor as funny, nor as playful as Whiskers. She tended to mind her own business, did not crave snuggling with humans, and kept my schedule to the minute. Up at six, make the coffee, into the study to write the blog, she preceded me through day and night. If I had friends over and we stayed up late, she'd be tapping her foot saying--"You've missed our bedtime, human!" Julie was way better than a secretary. She was the perfect dog for me—undemanding and self-contained.

Liza has searched the house, looked at me beseechingly and asked mental questions that I have tried to answer. She will no doubt go through a period of sadness, just as Julie did after Whiskers died. She and I will bond and eventually, she too will break my heart. Our pets reside in our tenderest alcoves, the ones we try to shield and cannot.

I had the "swinging tree" cut down last summer. Lightening had struck and killed it. Whiskers' rope swing came down with it. I have saved Wiskers' ashes in a box in the basement—for what, I did not know until now. When I get Julie's ashes back, my sons and I will bury them together where the tree used to stand and plant a new tree in its place. Liza and I will miss Julie. She was a good and loyal friend.

                                                     In the spirit,

                                                      Jane