If you've never had a Wister or a Teek--that blessed canine being who fills your world with wonder and love and warmth and laughter and shapes and changes you into a more whole human animal being--the realization that you now have "that dog" is a mix of overwhelm and a bit of practicality. I feel like a woman unable to conceive who dreams of having a child but keeps her longing at bay for fear that this baby may not make its way into her family. When he does--through the realities of loss and pain and most of all love of his first family--she cannot find any words to express her own depth of love, humility, gratitude. And so she goes shopping.
Koven is twitching in puppy boy dreamland under my desk on the orthopedic bed Honey gave him. Earlier, we went shopping, and when he trotted past a bin of dog toys he selected--without any direction from me--a fuzzy-squeaky-blue-hedgehog. He carried it up to the checkout and the cashier just asked for the price tag. He continued to carry it through the parking lot and into the car. I'm glad he hasn't determined my gullibility and the power of his indescribable cuteness...
Between walks and play-bows and mitigating sibling rivalry and poop scooping, I've had a philosophical and somewhat somber day. Much of this thinking is in response to one of my all time favorite people and best friends who, because of effing cancer, is considering his own mortality in new ways and causing me to think about it, too--yes, my own mortality and sense of value in living--but mostly, for now, the potential of ineffable grief and loss. TTW's line that "grief dares us to love once more" and Terry Reed's suggestion that the way people mourn their dead is to be among the living has me considering what that might look like in the lives of those I love and in my own life.
My "guilt" over my eagerness to bring Koven into my life so soon after Honey's death, and the prior "guilt" over bringing Honey into my life so soon after Scout's death finally seems to have evaporated. When Scout died, our vet told me I should give another dog a home as there are so many homeless dogs and because I have a home (in the biggest sense of what that word implies) to offer. Honey was that dog. She offered me so many gifts--from the realization of how sick Scout had been, to bringing me to Reno instead of Monument Valley, and most of all a sense of unconditional devotion and love I haven't known before. She showed me what was possible and she set up a way for those possibilities to manifest. Koven is going to be part of my tangible, physical "real" world for at least the next decade--he will accompany me along the way to my mid-40s. Bringing him into my life and offering him every ounce of love I have isn't selfish or irresponsible. It's not diminishing my love for Scout and Honey and he's not replacing those girls. Loving Koven, committing to Koven--recognizing that human lives extend beyond dog lives and embracing him completely even knowing the pain we'll suffer at his loss--this is me as my best self. This is me being courageous and trusting and so, so grateful. This is me embodying Tennyson's "'Tis better to have loved and lost/than never to have loved at all." This is me weighing how insulted The Cat will be that Koven's sharing our bed...
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