Their mama isn't usually this slow on the uptake. The leaving has been happening for some time now. The various pills are failing her and this big boy will not leave her side. She's very old. And she hasn't wanted to leave me, either. She knows.
Tonight she tumbled down ten steps. And peed when she reached the bottom.
I carried her down the other six but it's more than this. It's her dignity. And I'm not anthropomorphizing to insist that animals definitely possess it.
She's been more of a friend than my silly words can express. And no shortcut around these tears looks feasible. Going right through them, dammit, is just what's on the map.
I need some of her courage. And to remember that thing I believe: That we're all more than these bodies we carry around. And that I'll see her again.
It's probably risky writing something this personal only because - ah tenderness in human form! - there will always be that person who assumes something that's beyond their scope of knowing and I'm just petty enough to resent it in the beautiful tide of far more understanding than I could possibly expect to receive if I DIDN'T post this...
Thank you for just knowing. For not writing much other than you're simply thinking of us, that you're kind enough to hold us - strangers afar - in your good thoughts. Because. Really. What else is there to say?
If we're lucky: We outlive the ones we love. And that's the good bounce in this life. That's why holding onto the whatever things that bind us in the unseen - besides hugs and big ones at that - is the only real work before us. Laughter, encouragement, invisible applause for the victories of the young and the sheer grace of the ancient ones.
And because of all the marble urns and bottles and jars of dogs and cats who have crossed the bridge that are here now: In this one's name, will I find a creek, better yet - that big thirsty Pacific Ocean near me and empty them all into it, thanking the Maker for such companions along the way. And not forgetting the precious ones who are still here.