I choose to begin this entry with what might have been a postscript. I share it first because it states very clearly my feelings for a friend whom I lost a few years ago, but who is in my thoughts every day of my life. First, let me offer a passage that I received shortly after my friend’s death. I’ll follow that with my own eulogy for my friend, and then I’ll tell you the story of a special relationship that I enjoyed.
“We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached.Unable to accept the awful gaps, we still would live no other way.We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never understanding the necessary plan….”
“The Once Again Prince” from Separate Lifetimes…by Irving Townsend
June 24, 2008
My world, and yours, is not quite as beautiful as it was yesterday. There is a little less unconditional love to go around.
She would be just a little red Corgi to most of you, but to me, she was a spiritual companion in a world from which I have often felt estranged. Everyone would benefit from having a companion like Penny, even for just a brief time. My life has been profoundly affected by observing how Penny lived her short life.
I can’t remember when Penny had all of her physical abilities. It seems as though she has always limped and dragged her little body around. I never recall her complaining about the injustice of her infirmity. I just recall her compensation, participating in the only world she knew, which was perfect in her acceptance of her limitations and in her simple joy in being a part of every aspect of her environment. Penny’s joy was contagious. It took a troubled person to resist the love that she offered and not to express love in return. What good feelings she brought to her small part of the world, giving and receiving love without regard to its recipient or to its giver.
How I came to be the fortunate recipient of all that Penny’s life had to teach is a matter with which I am comfortable in my faith. All the circumstances and people that I have known since Penny became my spiritual guide dog have blended into a better understanding of their relationship to me. Penny’s mission was obviously to help me to try to understand the lessons that I keep learning and re-learning, concerning my purpose and my potential. If I can deal with life’s painful circumstances and respond with a fraction of the courage and acceptance demonstrated by Penny, my life will be a far more pleasant place.
For those who would say that Penny was “just” a dog; and as such, void of intellect and human-like emotion, I would not attempt a response. Every relationship is marked by a connection of something beyond mere physical existence. It is no more difficult to see love in the behavior of a dog than to assume love in a relationship with a less consistent human. The true measure of a relationship should be based on love, which is a difficult concept to intellectualize or especially, to verbalize. If the other party makes you feel good about yourself, and if your treatment of the other party makes you feel good about yourself, there is love. Wherein two individuals ask little of each other, but give all unconditionally, there is love. Penny was “just” a dog and I am “just” a man. She loved me unconditionally and I thank her eternally.
Penny the Dog loved you. She loved everyone, but that doesn’t diminish the value of her love.
Somewhere, in addition to in my heart, the spirit of Penny is sniffing the grass, chasing dragonflies, and smiling a broad Corgi smile. I miss her and I feel the pain of her physical absence from my life. Still, Penny the Dog comforts me. I thank God for allowing me to share Penny and I believe that she is safe in His arms eternally.
Conversations with Penny – Chapter One
You usually wait for me to awaken and then you lie there looking at me as if to ask, “Who’s the bum now?” Our contest to see who is bum of bums has been ongoing since I recently retired, and I must concede that you win. But, remember, I have only had a few months to refine my laziness while you have been honing your skills for nearly four years.
Lately, you have been waking me immediately after Wendy goes off to school. I’m not sure that I appreciate this new attempt to help me gain some degree of respectability; but I suppose that I must concede to you once again – I do need some structure in my life.
You wait for me to complete my morning routine of dental hygiene, a few games of hand-held Yatzee while attending to toilet matters, and the obligatory shower and shave. All the while you lie nearby with huge brown eyes fixated on me, reminding me that you depend on me while demonstrating amazing patience as I totter around the bathroom trying to become physically and mentally prepared for another day of learning from my furry guru. As soon as I dress, and particularly as soon as I put on my shoes and start for the bedroom door, you gather yourself and hobble eagerly across the carpet. Your struggles begin as you reach the expanse of slick ceramic tile that separates you from the next area of carpet. Your right leg knuckles under or flies outward in a pitiful reminder of the mysterious injury you suffered last December.
Finally, you gain the firmer footing of carpet, regain your stride, and reach the door with eager anticipation of what lies beyond. I slip the collar of your leash over your pointed muzzle and large, erect ears until it comes to rest about your white neck, so plush with thick fur. And as I open the door, you always pause as if to carefully survey all that lies beyond the open door, as if something will be different on this new day. What do you anticipate about this day that will be different from all of the previous days? And then I realize what you have always known. The opening of a door unto a new day is always a moment never before experienced, a new moment in time. You have begun my lesson for this day. I have entered and re-entered this door hundreds of times without the eager anticipation of new experiences, without realizing that I have yet another opportunity to re-create myself, suddenly thinking about others with whom I may interact beyond this newly, opened threshold.
My little, red and white furry friend, you are so wise and I have so much to learn from you.
Our stroll on this morning is, as usual, frequented by numerous stops for thorough sniffing of the terrain. I have come to realize that it is not enough to see the green, the yellow, and the browns of vegetation, or the blacks and grays of pavement, or the brilliant blue of the early summer sky, populated with billowing white clouds. One must also smell the fragrances and the odors and listen to the subtle sounds that apparently abound in your extrasensory world. I am reminded of how limited we humans are and how imperfect are our senses compared to yours. Again, you are my mentor as you teach me to be more aware of all that surrounds me and to look outward, not inward upon the selfishness of my internal world. The love that you display in your opportunity to participate in your surroundings is both awesome and inspiring.
Some days, you venture far and struggle with your infirm gait through grasses of varying depth. It seems that you particularly enjoy the areas that are thick and deep, wherein you might conceal your small stature and disappear in the overgrowth while you merrily sniff the flora and feel its texture against your ample coat. How completely you become one with nature, whether it is the deep weeds of undeveloped lots that lie nearby, or whether it is the laps of all those who love to hold you close to their hearts and stroke your warm, furry body.
Finally, we hurry home. or so I encourage you. You are easily distracted a hundred times along the way. No butterfly, moth, or dragonfly is denied your attention, but each is given chase. Every walker, jogger, bicyclist, or neighbor working in his yard is your most intimate friend, to be greeted with laid back ears and wagging posterior where only a knot of what might have been a tail remains. No living thing is a stranger or to be feared by you, for as you offer affection, so you are loved by all.
Upon re-entering the house, you stop for a moment to tell me that you expect a reward for favoring the neighboring vacant lot with waste that a housebroken pooch deposits beyond her residence. Your speech is unique to a Corgi and sounds vaguely like, “WO WOO WOO.” You have many voices, and you carefully intone your barks to reflect the message that you intend to convey, or so it seems to one who communicates with you on a regular basis. You trust me to decide the fare for the day. A doggie treat would be nice, or perhaps a half a portion of dog food topped with lettuce, red cabbage, and a slice of tomato. We opt for the food and salad on this day, followed by a dessert of a glucossamine tablet, a desperate attempt to remedy your lameness. It saddens me to see you struggle with the lameness of your right legs, but I admire your courage – you battled back from total immobitilty to become independent and at times nearly as mobile as you ever were. I hope that I can deal with the inevitable issues of declining health with the same resolution. Again, you teach me, this time – who I can become and how I can deal with adversity.
Conversations with Penny – Chapter Two
Today began as usual; the shuffling of feet across the carpet followed by a sound somewhere between a whine and a Corgi growl. I am to consider myself alerted that another day is about to begin with the usual routine to be directed by you, Penny the Dog, my personal trainer.
After the customary pause at the front door, you and I proceed down the front walk onto the driveway and finally into the street. Today seems to be “Independence Day,” or so it would appear as you head in a direction not conducive to flush your systems of toxic wastes. I urge you to follow me down the street to the usual location for your daily duty, but you become suddenly deaf, or at least indifferent, to me, which necessitates the dreaded “come” and a gentle tug on the leash.
A “tug on the leash” is forever a dreaded phrase because of the recurring thought that my tug, less than “gentle”, may somehow have been the source of the spinal injury that plagues my stubby little Corgi friend to this day. For all of us, December 7th and September 11th are days of infamy. For me, the day my Corgi could not stand is infamous enough and sufficient cause for grief. I remember taking your pathetic, immobile body to the local veterinarian and later to a neurological specialist in Maitland. For the first time, you were separated from your family while boarded for medical treatment.
Upon your return home, you lay helpless and unable even to separate yourself from your own wastes. We cared for you as we might have cared for an infant, and you responded to our love and patience with growing strength and determination to regain your physical independence. Later, when the neurologist offered us praise for patiently nursing you back to health, I recall thinking to myself that there was no alternative. Where there is so much mutual love, what could the alternative have been?
Penny, something you didn’t know was that during your hospitalization, to calm my troubled mind, I spent mornings retracing some of our recent neighborhood excursions that preceded the onset of your paralysis. I followed your healthy footprints left clearly in the sandy soil. I realized that I had to deal with my fears that you might not ever walk again, or worse, that you might not even survive your mysterious ailment. No one seemed to be able to determine the cause of your paralysis, or to offer a meaningful prognosis, or a possible treatment, even suggest a term of recovery.
I was overwhelmed with grief and my eyes did not merely water, but rather I sobbed uncontrollably. It become apparent to me, at that time, that tears not only flush one’s eyes, but also release toxic grief that left unpurged, leaves scars on the soul. I sobbed, unashamed and without regard for what anyone might think had they happened upon me at that moment. I grieved as though you would never recover, and also because I realized that I had yet to gain the understanding or appreciation for love which comes in an infinite quantity from many sources and needs to be expressed openly and frequently, never denied, never suppressed. The only value love has is reveled when it is given away and received eagerly at every opportunity. A little, red and white, furry dwarf reminded me of the need we all have to love and, when necessary, to grieve the loss of that opportunity. Of course, we must go on with our lives; and therein, we should express our love without limit and endure grief without reservation and go on to fearlessly do it again and again without fear of reproach or self-doubt. The memory of a lost loved one, even the potential for losing a loved one, is something that I was allowed to ponder and to feel. The recollections of loss, both real and imagined, help me to gain further insight and accept who I have been, who I am – with hope of whom I may yet become as a student of my Pembroke guru.
Today’s task, however, is to get you, my independent friend, to respond to my pseudo-beast master directions. Following your brief sniff of the mailbox’s support post, you, my hopping companion, finally reach terrain more suitable for the task at hand. But not all would be simple on this day. There are weeds that tower above your head that need exploration, and muddy spots to traverse, and birds to watch while imagining glorious pursuits that might have occurred at an early stage of your life. Even now, in your weakened physical condition, you are not to be denied a few threatening steps toward the obnoxious Sand Hill Cranes that obnoxiously wander about our neighborhood.
Finally, the tasks are completed and pausing to be brushed, with some reluctance and the usual Corgi vocalization, we return to our own driveway to recover the morning newspaper and re-enter the door that separates welcomed air conditioning from the infamous, oppressive heat and humidity of our Florida climate. Next, a morning repast of dog food and salad with a glucossamine dessert and some fresh water for you, a protein shake for me, and this morning is considered a success by both man and dog.
Having finished your meal and quenched your thirst, you assume your intimate position between my feet. This is the position that you assume each time I seat myself at the kitchen table, It is at this location that expectations rise and fall, determined by the portions of food that do not meet my mouth, but fall like manna from above. This occasion is not to be remarkable, and if it were the customary dining performance by your student/master, you would not so expectantly rest your muzzle upon my feet in what we both know to be a gesture of faux affection.
Shortly after the disappointment of this morning’s double-deckered dining, you follow me to the door as I exit to begin running some errands. As I drive away, I see your familiar, little pointed muzzle framed by a small pain of glass, one of several windows that outline the door. I look forward to returning soon to continue learning life’s lessons from my wise teacher.
As I continue down our street, I wonder what my life might have been if I had had the insight to seek, to observe, and to reflect upon the lessons offered by all those about me that selfish ignorance had caused me to disregard. As I turn a corner and begin winding my way out of our neighborhood, I am confronted by my knowledge that the beauty of a life, as I have just recently discovered, is that it matters not where we have been, but it certainly matters where we are headed. Is it strange that a little dog can continue to stimulate my consciousness?
Conversations with Penny – Chapter Three
Most of today, you seem to exemplify the maxim about sleeping dogs. I do wonder how you decide on which side to lie or upon which surface you will recline, ceramic tile or carpet. Much of the time you seem to keep your eyes wide open. Do you rest with your eyes open, or are you an undercover guard dog, fooling potential burglars with your casual posture? It is difficult to walk by without addressing the belly that you expose in submission. (Or, is it because a belly rub feels damn good? Penny, meet a rhetorical question.)
There are a few behaviors that trouble me. I know that you truly enjoyed racing Eric up the stairs, herding him and nipping at his heels if he were more fleet than you. But, now that the stairs are too much for your impaired, stubby legs, it is painful to see you gather yourself for the impending race, only to be stymied by the first step of your former race course. This reminder of your physical limitations is depressing to me for personal reasons. It also reminds me of my age related loss of physical prowess, real or imagined. I doubt that time has enhanced your recollection of physical exploits as it has mine, but we both have lost much that we enjoyed. I know that you are better at acccepting your plight, giving me another learning opportunity, however unintentional.
And one more thing, while I’m considering your faults… All that barking and posturing whenever someone comes to the door…Irritating! What are you purporting to do, lick some intruder into submission or trip him by entangling his shoestrings? Go into the bedroom, turn left, and stop before the mirrored closet doors. See that furry dwarf? I know, “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.” That’s an old, Bear Bryant slogan…
Sometimes, I lie down on the floor and stroke your thick, soft fur. I tell you that you stink, and then you lick my face to remind me what dog breath smells like. Apparently, the chlorophyll in the salad you eat with your dog food is insufficient to overcome the odor created by whatever it is that dog food manufactures use to produce their dry product. Lately, we have been experiencing thunderstorms, and we are all amused that you find them so disturbing. (Some of us do, too.) We do enjoy that you seek to be held like a baby in our arms until the storm has passed.
It is obvious to me that your favorite room in the house is the kitchen and your favorite time of the day is any meal time. You amble under Wendy’s feet, hoping that manna will fall from the cutting board or counter top. When the meal is served and all are seated, you lie between my feet, no one else’s, to bear witness to the one most likely to miss his mouth, However, the real service that you have provided to me is not meal clean-up, but much later when I forage the kitchen in the evening in search of snacks to eat while seated before the TV. You remind me, by your presence, about my excess weight and yours. I think it is a difficult battle that we are waging, but you are doing your part to overcome. Perhaps, together we can stop our excessive, binge eating and live a little longer and a lot healthier.
I really admire your social skills. That “Old Fart” walker that day after day comments about how fat you are…I appreciate that you don’t bark at him and say something in Corgi-speak like, ” I may be fat, but I can lose weight and be slimmer in a few weeks; but in a few weeks, you will still be a stupid Old Fart who doesn’t remember what he said yesterday and keeps repeating himself every time we meet.” (I may be projecting what I would say, or want to say?) I also think it is remarkable that you never seem to be impressed by other dogs being paraded down our street, even though some of them look like they could be pulling a plow. Finally, I appreciate your self-control when you see some of the ladies on the other end of their dogs’ leashes… I mean the one’s with the spandex pants that they bought during their teen years and continue to wear as mature women. I’m pleased that you don’t Corgi laugh; only Corgi smile.
We do have to work on respecting our neighbor’s yards during waste removal exercises. Those “little brown strangers” that you create are not considered gifts by people with carefully manicured lawns. Although, given their excessive use of chemical fertilizers, pesticides, and herbicides, an occasional turd may seem acceptable and justifiable to some of us. Sort of a subtle protest by the environmentalist from Wales…
Tonight, when David Letterman has signed off for the night and we turn out the lights. we will slip into the bedroom, me to the comfort of my airbed and you to the bed’s recently removed comforter, tossed nearby. I can peacefully fall to sleep knowing that tomorrow will come and there will be another new day. Although it will begin as just another day, you will lead me through the doorway into a new experience, a new place in a new time, even if it takes us to the same places we have always gone. Isn’t it strange that my association with you and the time we spend together is always different and yet made up of the same substance and entities. We might even meet the “Old Fart” again…
Conversations with Penny – Chapter Four
You were extremely stimulated to hear that we (including you) were going to make an automobile journey. The destination is always irrelevant to you. Hopping, with assistance, into your car seat and feeling the car back out of the driveway must feel to you like the beginning of a ride on the space shuttle. Whether it’s a ride to the Vet or a ten hours ride to North Carolina, pushing out the edge of the envelope and extending your little universe is what you enjoy. Whether leaving the house, exploring the neighborhood, or making a journey in the car, you do make the most out of every moment.
Once the car has been in motion for a few moments, and once you have reconciled the fact, that given your recently acquired physical limitations, you will not be able to place your snout at window level; you recline on the seat and enjoy the sensation of movement. I am amazed at your sensitivity to all that happens about you, to the people that you encounter, and to the new places you seem continually and consciously to seek.
I wonder if you remember your experience two years ago on our first trip to Lake Lure, North Carolina. Somewhere in South Carolina, a Tennessee driver wandered into our lane and I swerved to avoid a sideswipe. We nearly collided and you tumbled from your perch onto the floor behind my seat. As usual, you offered no complaint. We un-wedged you from your precarious and uncomfortable, inverted location, and in return, you offered your usual Corgi smile and a lick to the face of your rescuer. You were so pleasant then, and even though you have become infirm, you are ever unflappable.
On this day, your unflappability will be sorely tested. On this day you will meet Sophia, the most dreaded of all canine, a puppy. You have survived encounters with Tink, the queen of hyperactive canine, also a puppy. Now, you again venture into another ADHAP’s (Attention Deficit Hyperactive Pup’s) home court for a family gathering that is meant for birthday celebrations, not your physical and/or psychological punishment. Fortunately, your old friend, Summer, an older and non-belligerent Lab, will offer you some solace in your attempts to enjoy kicking back, doggie-style. You two can run about for a while, sniffing and greeting everyone and then you’ll assume the positions of your choice while gaining some serious ZZZ’s.
Upon our arrive at our destination, you are pleased to relieve yourself of some predigested dry dog food. You are careful to make your deposit in an obscure location near the fence line and out of any potential footfalls. You are a classy young lady and considerate of your human friends beyond what they probably deserve and well beyond their comprehension. Upon fulfilling your excremental duties, you hurry to the house seeking the human occupants and Summer, unaware that you are about to meet a puppy. Can you remember when you were a dog larva?
The day passes with a minimum of intrusions into your bubble of space, with the notable exception of some demonstrations that Sophia is possessed. It is particularly noticeable that Sophia needs exorcism when she disables your effort to rise to your feet by placing her paw across your one good front paw. Only you and I, the alleged Beast Master, are aware of the smirk on Sophia’s pug face or of the glint of demonic pleasure in her bulging eyes. For the most part, the intrusions of Sophia into your bubble have been thwarted by her mistress and others of your human friends that provide compassion for your physical limitations.
As the day of celebration ends and we begin gathering our belongings for the trip home, I can’t tell if you are merely stimulated and eager to travel, or perhaps, eager to escape from your little nemesis – but eager you are. And then it happens… You are vindicated. Nearby, Sophia appears out of nowhere with a brown, cylindrical object extending from her mouth. You look at me with a wry smile, and you mouth the words, “Sophie eats shit, and it’s MINE!
All of us are disempowered with laughter, some at the sight of Sophia, you and I at the idea of your passive repayment for a day of stressful harassment It now appears to be more than an idle maxim…”Every dog has her day.”
The trip home seems shorter than on other occasions. You are reclining in the back seat and only your heavy panting makes me aware of your presence. The day has been filled with recollections, jokes, and reflections; but it is the memories of you that I still carry with me. Your endless patience, your love for everything and everyone, your eagerness to expand your little volume of experiences, are, once again, reason for speculation concerning the minor differences between us. What you have caused me to consider today is the gap between the feeling and the doing. Although you are a simple creature with limited intellectual capacity, you are profoundly more emotionally intelligent than I.
Tomorrow will begin as most days, but perhaps tomorrow will not end as most days. Perhaps, tomorrow will be the day that your instructions concerning my being in touch with my world will finally influence my choices and manifest themselves in a more appropriate set of behaviors and improved interpersonal relationships.
I know exactly what you are thinking …”It is hard to teach an old man new tricks.”
Conversations with Penny – The Final Chapter?
(I will preface this chapter with the news that I have recently been “Respondent” to Wendy’s “Plaintiff.” I willing accepted Penny in our settlement and Wendy got the rest. As Conversations with Penny reveals, I felt the division of “property” was equitable and I wish Wendy well and thank her for finding Penny and bringing her into my life. So let us continue…There is still some of Penny’s story to share, and that’s why you are here…)
On Friday morning, when I ambled into the living area of our apartment area from another fitful night of sleep, I encountered a small cluster of dog droppings near the exit door. This was almost unheard of during Penny’s residence in our new apartment home. I was certain that something must be wrong with my little friend; perhaps, I had overfed her again. Her eating habits were becoming more inconsistent as time passed, but I hadn’t attached any significance to that. However, the sight of poop on the floor suggested that something was ailing Penny.
I found her resting on her side on the kitchen floor. I did not see the look of guilt that she usually expressed in a moment like this. Instead, there was a far-away look in her eyes and labor in her respiration that was immediately a source of concern for me. She seemed less responsive than I had ever seen; and when I tried to hold her upright, she made no attempt to stand on her own, instead sprawling to her underbelly, legs askew. My immediate concern was that she had relapsed into that neurological condition of several years ago when she could not stand. Then, it was only after weeks of medical attention that she did rise to her feet again and go forth with her laborious gait, although still offering her love and affection to everyone that she encountered.
As the hours of Friday passed, I could detect no change in Penny’s physical state. I gathered her into my arms and held her close as we sat on the sofa together, my teacher and her student. I stroked her thick neck hair and massaged the area behind her ears. My dad used to say that rubbing a dog behind her ears allowed her to dream of a delicious, large ham bone…Dream, my little friend, dream…
Late into Friday night and into early Saturday, Penny rose and walked about. I took her outside where she dutifully excreted and sniffed about the grass just beyond our door. But, even in this familiar behavior, there was something missing. The spirit of my little Corgi was weak and growing weaker. Later, she came to my bedroom and looked up where I lay. There was a sense of quiet urgency in her eyes. I offered to take her outside. I offered her food and water. Finally, I took her in my arms and held her close until we both became uncomfortable. I placed her back on the floor where she remained throughout the night as if awaiting the coming morning with a sense of uncertainty.
Saturday morning came and Penny appeared to have regained some of her strength. She walked for some distance and even performed her duties. although her butt was covered with loose excrement. This incident was not symptomatic of a major digestive problem, we had to use baby wipes on other occasions over the years. On this morning, Penny’s walk was more unsteady than usual, her breathing shallow and rapid, and before we headed home, she first sat and then lay down as if exhausted. I gathered her up and carried her home. In my heart, I knew that my dear companion was seriously ill.
As the day progressed, I saw signs that Penny’s stamina was improving. She joined me outside on several occasions, but she did not offer to venture far. On a couple of occasions, she was content to lie just outside the door, taking advantage of air conditioning while viewing the action around our intimate neighborhood. I invited Penny outside while I cast into the retention pond with my fly rod. I became aware that she was displeased that my primary concern was not she, and I felt guilt. I was becoming fearful that the time we were spending together was becoming precious.
Although Penny seemed to be regaining strength on Sunday, I realized that her lack of appetite, lack of strength and energy, and rapid, shallow breathing required a visit to the Vet on Monday. We took a couple of car rides on Sunday evening, and during the car rides, it was evident that Penny was not her usual “riding-dog” self. By late Sunday evening, my concerns had lessened some because my little red Corgi was making further progress by demonstrating her always zestful, although restricted, approach to life.
Monday morning began quite normally for us. Penny was eager to take a short walk. She performed her duties along the way and ambled quite some distance before succumbing to fatigue once again. I gathered her up into my arms and returned to our doorway. (There was a time when I might have suspected that I was being played for the soft touch which I was never ashamed to be.) This day, this time, was different. Penny was sick and on this day we would seek a cure. This little creature who has taught me more about life and about myself than all the books, teachers, and experiences that I have had, must be healed. So I thought.
I called the Vet at 8:30 and I was able to secure a 9:15 appointment. When we arrived, Penny was sufficiently stimulated to refute all of my careful descriptions of her symptoms. But as the examination ensued, it became apparent that healing was probably not an option. X-rays and a sonogram revealed a large mass in Penny’s abdominal area, probably a tumor on her spleen. Likely, a condition without a positive prognosis, nearly always terminal. We would be returning to the specialists’ clinic in Maitland, this time with only a prayer that my furry little friend would survive. Unlike that time several years ago, the problem was more easily diagnosed and in the knowledge of her disease, my greatest fears were realized.
As I drove home from the Vet’s office, the tears welled in my eyes and ran down my cheeks. As I carried Penny to the apartment door, my eyes burned and my chest was tight in sorrow. I had lost loved ones before, but the prospect of losing Penny at this time of her life, and mine, was overwhelming. I placed her on the cool cement outside our door and she eagerly entered as the door opened. I think she paused for a moment after she entered – as if to communicate that this was the place that she performed her greatest deeds, sustaining a man in search of his soul.
Tonight and tomorrow will come and pass. Grief will ebb and flow. All that has gone before will be recalled, some savored and some repressed. Wednesday will come, and our trip to Maitland will likely be your last. You will peek from your lamb-skinned car seat and I will drive through a veil of tears.
I may need to leave you there, and it is there that your life will probably end. My teacher, know that you have been God’s special gift to me and that you will live in my heart and mind eternally. You were not just my dog, you were my truest friend who tried to teach me what all of my other experience have failed to teach. Give love abundantly and you shall receive love abundantly in return. I have seen you, a thousand times over, reach out to others, some seemingly unlovable, with your ears bent back and that expressive Corgi smile that no one could possibly resist. I have seen that nub where a tail might have been “wagging” in eager anticipation of a pat or a cuddle. You gave all your love away, and although not everyone responded, you alway found more love to give freely and joyfully without hesitation.
As I sit here, tears again running down my face, anticipating the loss of your companionship, I promise you that I will make my best effort to imitate your example. Your short life reminds me that for whatever life I have left, I can honor your gifts by sharing them with others.
On your ample shoulders are markings in golden fur, angel’s wings, that contrast with your auburn fur. Those marking are unique to Corgis, and at this moment they serve to assure me that you have a special place in the heart of your Creator. After you finish your work here, I know that you will live eternally. In that eternity, you will chase endless dragonflies, butterflies, and Sand Hill Cranes. Your ROOOO ROOOO ROooo’s will delight Heaven as they brought joy to me and others during this lifetime. And when it thunders, I will think of you beneath my feet, pick you up and hold you close within my heart.
But, we do have today, tomorrow, and Wednesday morning to spend together. So let me love you and hold you close and thank God for the time we’ve had together.
