Yesterday was the most beautiful morning I’ve witnessed in the three and a half years since I’ve lived in this house. Considering that I see hundreds of beautiful sunrises from my living room each year, that’s saying something.
Juxtaposed to the stunning beauty of the cobalt blue sky and the bright sunshine reflecting off the fresh coat of snow and ice, my dog panted heavily from his bed in the middle of my living room. He was in pain. He could no longer rise from his bed. As the glorious day flooded through the windows, Karin and I prepared to make that final ride to the vet. After several minutes of deliberation on the best way to move him, we shuffled through the house and squeezed through the doorway with Thai still lying in his bed, folded up like a taco.
My body did its best to take in all this information; to process the fact that my wonderful friend and I would be parting ways. To process the fact that in a short time I would be watching and holding him as the life faded from his body. To process that all of this was really happening — after all, he was still so full of life, spry enough to sneak a nap on the forbidden couches and run through the woods with elan just a week ago.
But today was that day. The day I knew would arrive. The day that I had mentally tried to prepare myself for, but secretly wished that we might be special enough to elude. I consciously worked to keep myself open, to keep the energy and emotion flowing through me. In my mind and under my breath, I repeated the word — "Yes. Yes. Yes." The combination of bright sunlight and warm tears stung my eyes as we moved toward our destination.
There have been so many tears — more tears than when either of my parents died — that I wonder what they are about. We associate tears with sadness. And without question, I am grieving at the loss of my constant companion of the last 14 years. But somewhere in those tears, I also feel deep, deep gratitude for having been blessed with this creature’s presence in my life. I remember being told that the Japanese have a word to describe an emotion that translates to "happy-sad." That would seem to best capture what’s flowing through me right now.
I am happy-sad.
And that feeling is intense. It is powerful. It’s flooding though me. I recognize all of this as the stuff of being human. Not to be resisted in any way. Like any powerful experience, I suspect that the energy that’s moving through me shall be transformative in ways that I cannot yet know. That said, my early sense is that Thai was here in part to teach me how to feel more completely and to purge some of the darker vestiges of my past.
We shall see, I suppose.
I hope to share more later.
For now, I ride the waves.
– d
My boy. "Wonder Dog" as my dad called him. "The best boy ever" as Karin called him.
He’ll always be my boy. My good, good boy.
Sorting through the pictures of Thai, this one just grabbed me.
Drew —
My heart goes out to you and Karin. Dogs are so much a part of our lives and we are very lucky to have them with us — but no matter how long it is, it’s never long enough.
Here is a quote about dogs that I have always loved.
“Dogs…do not ruin their sleep worrying about how to keep the objects they have, and to obtain the objects they have not. There is nothing of value they have to bequeath except their love and their faith.” –Eugene O’Neill, from his Dalmatian, Blemie’s, last will and testament
Bless you, and Karin, and sweet dreams to Thai. He’s running happy and free at the Bridge, waiting for the day when you’ll all be together again.
Joan
thank you, Joan.
that is a lovely quote.
through the whole process i am quite certain Thai was fine — even if it didn’t look like it on the outside. he was ready. it was his time.
and while he’s not physically near me anymore, i am certain that his spirit will continue to teach me things that will help me in my life.
i find comfort in that. and i find comfort in you sharing your thoughts with me… thank you for that…
with appreciation,
drew
Drew,
So sorry to hear about your loss, but I know that the lessons you are learning will be put to great use in helping those who come into contact with you. In that way, Thai will be connecting with/through a part of so many people for many, many years.
You’re in my thoughst,
Dan
Hi Dan —
I appreciate that perspective very, very much.
My sincere thanks…
Drew
it all seems so beautiful, Drew. the weather today, your relationship with Thai, the tears, his life, his death. your appreciation for his soul really shined throughout your post. thanks for sharing.
jenn
hi Jenn —
i am finding it helps to share. i am drawn to sharing my feelings. simply it makes me feel better. thanks for being open to what i share… it’s what connection is all about. and that, to me, is the stuff of life.
warmest,
d
Hi Drew,
We don’t know each other but I feel kinda connected to you because I had a cat called Brutus. He was rescued from the Mayhew Animal Rescue Centre. He was a wild cat who had FIV and although it took a while for him to settle down & accept becoming an indoor cat, as that’s what the thinking was then; he was GORGEOUS!
I loved him heaps, learned lots from him, discovered feelings I didn’t know I had AND completely saw him as a member of my family.
I was happy that he was to be put to sleep ONLY because he was in so much pain. Of course I was sad too and grieved lots. It didn’t feel the same in my flat for a very long time.
So I know what you mean by feeling the happy – sad emotion.
I wish that you heal and get through this with the support of those you love and cherish.
Take care
Heena
All dogs go to heaven, don’t they? My boyfriend has this young Japanese Spitz, not even five months old, who’s currently struggling with life himself. While I have never had dogs, I have come to love them all the same. I’m sorry for your loss. In a way, I have experienced a similar sort of sadness.
hi Heena —
thank you for sharing your experience with Brutus (great name, btw).
i will continue to share my experience with Thai’s life and death because he helped me tap into so many deep emotions — emotions that are at the core of being human and things that need to be felt to live the fullest life possible.
for the record, Thai was a shelter dog as well. for many years, Thai WAS my family… by that i mean that it was just me and him trying to make it on our own. i was a completely different person when i got Thai, a boy really. he saw me through to manhood and i am most grateful for that.
Heena, I am also grateful that you took the time to share your story with me. and i greatly appreciate your kind words and your support.
warmest regards,
drew
hi Jen —
first, i hope things turn out well with your boyfriend’s dog. when Thai was a puppy, he got parvovirus — usually kills little doggies. but somehow, after a week in quarantine at the vet, he emerged and grew into a very strong dog. but i remember that time — the uncertainty of whether this little innocent creature was going to survive as being very difficult.
i wish you peace and faith as things unfold.
thanks for sharing, Jen…
warmest,
drew
Hi Drew
I am sad your friend has passed and you are grieving. Losing a pet is dreadful.
My mum’s beloved Sophie – a gorgeous blue-point Siamese cat died just before Christmas. Mum took her home from the vet’s in a box and put her in the freezer until the spring when she could bury her in the garden with the flowers.
When I stopped and thought about this, I had to repeat it to myself – the cat is in the freezer?!!! Now that is just plain weird! Funny, in fact! Now I have running through my head, the tune of ‘cat’s in the freezer’ to Cat Stevens ‘cat’s in the cradle’.
Don’t get me wrong – I LOVED this cat – I picked her out of the litter and loved her cute bundle of fluffiness and even named her. She would play hide and seek with you – wait at the top of the stairs (where she knew she was not allowed) until she knew you were chasing her and go and hide in one of the bedrooms. She loved this game. She was very naughty. One night she got out and waited for my Dad to chase her upstairs in to one of the guest bedroom suites (they own a B&B), and my Dad burst into the room to get the cat, only to discover her lying on the bed, with the honeymooning guests asleep in said bed. What could Dad do? He grabbed the cat, and ran out of there. Not a word was spoken about the incident to the guests the next day. They all just pretended nothing happened. I am sure Sophie REALLY enjoyed that round of hide an seek! I miss that cat.
But death is not all gloom. The spirit of Sophie is alive and well in my memories. And the bundle of cells that are left wrapped up in the freezer – that’s not her. That’s just a funny, crazy cat-lady story.
The relief I got with the laugh helped me to let go. Good on you Sophie – a prankster to the end.
Much love to you Drew.
Zoe
thank you Zoe
this made me smile…several times…
🙂
for the record, we did not freeze Thai… just had him stuffed instead.
Hi Drew,
Your story has brought back so many memories and feelings of when my very first dog had to be put down back in December 1986. It seems like only yesterday that we spent my youth together. She was my exercise partner, my confident, and at times my whole world.
My thoughts are with you Drew.
Sib