Friday, May 11, 2018

On Goodbyes

This is a chapter From The Book of Barkley I have never posted on here, because it's just too "raw" for me, even today, but for my friend Andrea, who lost her Casey today I wanted to share.  She had a relationship with her furry best friend as I did.  I've loved every dog that's been a part of my life, including rescue Abby, but there was no dog that I've ever bonded as closely too as Barkley.  There has been more than one time I've boarded a plane and seen someone in their seat with Barkley's book reading it and weeping and I've wanted to say something, but there are some moments you just can't interrupt.  That's why I wrote it and that's why I remember it today, with my own tears, but still, a smile.

Remember them, and hold those memories close.
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CHAPTER 48– Goodbye

The drive from the Vet to home was a long as a lifetime, a collar and leash, lying on the back seat where only hours ago, lay someone so excited to be going to the Vet, never afraid of that place, only happy for the extra attention and special treats.

Can I live with the drive, knowing he would never return?

There is no pain, no regrets.  Everything I gave him, he gave me back tenfold, listening to me chat away about my day, things that by my oath of duty, I couldn't tell anyone else. He was my black knight with the wagging tail, the fur-covered Kleenex when I cried. He was the finder of slippers and the keeper of hearts.

He was a dog, but he was much more than a dog.

He was support, he was patience.  He was the promise that even with the worst mistakes, he still loved me.  He was that fire that cauterized me against loneliness and fear, the thump of his tail like the sound of a heart in the womb, creature comfort there in the dark and unknown.   He became the unevictable place in a heart so bruised; it had pushed everyone harshly away that got too close, teaching me to trust again. With that trust, I found my heart's twin, who happily became his family, as well.

As a family, we take care of each other.  Having a pet is a commitment just as is any bond, either visible or invisible with another living creature, is.  It's not just being a good friend during the good times, it's being a friend during surgery, explosive doggrhea, and that pile of vomit in the corner on the one square of carpet that wasn't protected by a cheap throw rug.

You do what you can to help them during those scary, shadowed times, with tender, soothing words. You don't lay your hand upon them with forceful curse and belittlement.  They look at you to be the strong one, the better one, even if it's difficult to do.  They trust you to act from your heart and not from the infinite, internal voices of human fear and angst.

They pay it back in ways that can't be captured, but by the measured beat of a tail.  On those nights when you come home really, really late from work, your soul weary, the house dark, they will quietly come up to you, leaning into you, drawn from their slumber to your side like steel and magnet. At that moment, there as both your hearts beat in the silence, you realize that every measure of sickness and health was worth it.

For there is a great measure of trust and love contained in that warm web of bone and fur, the eyes that can commandeer your pancakes and the tail that wags for you as if you were the only person on the planet for them, and maybe you are.

Their time is so short, indeed, but that does not mean you should not love.  In "people" years, Barkley was probably sixty-something. But they were years condensed down into their core elements, as if a simple ordinary succession of days were not enough, as if the love and all of that faithfulness, the freedom of the field, and the tug of a leash towards the horizon was compressed down into something as hard and brilliant as a diamond.  Everything, every single element of so many long days is there in that short span of time, compounded into that one leap, one surge,  towards the lights of a vehicle in the drive, one joyous bark that contains within it simply "”My person is home”

He cared nothing about what where we lived, how I looked or how much money was in the bank.  All he cared about was how to bequeath that which sustained him, in his too short life, his faith and his love, as he patiently waited for my return.

When he greeted me, he seemed to know when I just needed to sit in the quiet.  He seemed to know when I wanted to play.   If there were a ball to be thrown, he would abandon all restraint and gave every fiber of himself, to reach that for which was before, only a dream; unmitigated glory.  His life was not deadlines, or deals or caring about the things that in all reality will not matter at the end of life.  His life was simply a joyous run ahead of that avalanche of time that would be his enemy had he any concept of it.

But time caught up with him, forcing a decision that I hoped wouldn't have to be made. But meds could not keep the pain at bay and amputation and chemo was only going to buy a very short amount of time, at the expense of his comfort. I could not in good conscience make him go through that for there was no cure, only a continuation of pain. So I was there, by his side, not passing on the burden solely to someone in a white lab coat, loving and caring, but not his "Mom". Although he never formally took an oath, paw placed upon a revered document, flag on the wall, an oath was taken.  When he came home with me as a puppy, he swore his life to serve and protect.  That was his duty, as it is mine.

He had enough medication to briefly take the pain away, a big bowl of food that wasn't kibble, and all the treats he could happily gobble down.  There was no fear in him, no pain, and no anxiety. Dad and Mom said goodbye as I placed my cool hand on his warm flank and talked to him down at floor level, in all those murmured words that meant something only to us.  Where else could I be but to just be there as the needle quietly slipped in and he was free from all burden, one surge, one leap towards the light so easily and joyously, so as to lose all sense of restraint, weightless upon the warm, invisible air.  He was free, the pain of bone and flesh departed, only one long, joyous, soundless bark as he went Home to wait by the Rainbow Bridge until we can catch up.

He was more than a dog. He was love that crept in on four paws and remains, as long as memory lasts. - LBJ

8 comments:

  1. Poignant. I have been there. I know that joy and that pain. I will first and foremost always remember the joy.

    You speak from the heart. 'Tis a big heart. Much love to you and yours LB.

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  2. I love this. It still hurts, raw, to read it, even though it's been 5 years since Charlie crossed over the Bridge.

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    1. I know, I look at the picture of my brother with him, weeks before they both died, and it hurts, deeply and painfully, but I can still smile for the memories. I'm also forever grateful to a husband that would spend his honeymoon on a road trip of several days to chill with my brother in his last days.

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  3. You had your Barkley - Andrea had her Casey and I had my Shiloh, I think of him as my heart and soul dog. Like you, there were others before him, first when I was growing up and they were family dogs and then when I became an adult I always had one. But there was something special about Shiloh - we challenged each other and we brought out the best in each other. It has been a little over 2 years since he crossed the Bridge - he wanted to stay but also like Barkley the cancer finally took hold and I can still see vividly the look in his eyes the night before I helped him cross the Bridge.

    I wanted to thank you for your post and sharing that chapter. I totally get why it was hard for you - there is a part of me that wants to be done with the grieving but I think I have come to realize that it will never be completely over - some things are easier maybe but too much happened between me and Shiloh for the grief to totally be over. I do get little signs from him tho telling me things are ok, that he is ok.
    Mom Kim

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  4. So beautiful. I think Phod is my heart dog. I had been sure it was my angel Loki, then the universe sent me Phod. I have loved all my dogs and cats and miss those passed deeply.

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  5. Having been on that floor at the vet's with a heart dog who gave me his all, your post brought that day back the memories in strong vivid colors. My tears flowed again but a smile emerged through the sadness knowing it ended the way it needed to...for his sake/ Thank you for reminding me of that day so very long ago.💖

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  6. That's so beautiful, and absolutely true. I will never understand people who say it hurts too much to be with their furbabies in their last moments. Of course it hurts. But how much more would it hurt them to go through that without me there to say goodbye and I love you one more time?

    <3
    Andrea

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  7. Your words always touch my momma's heart in just the right places. Stella rose

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Welcome to The Book of Barkley and the Blogville dog blogging community. This blog was created for more memories of Barkley as well as updates on Abby the Senior rescue Lab, who we adopted in 2014.

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