Wishing you a blessed day

“If pets don’t go to heaven, than I shouldn’t want to go unless he’s waiting at the gate with a stick for me to throw.” This is the last line from a poem that my mom wrote on a headstone for our big beautiful black lab Dozer. Anyone who’s had a pet that they love and spend time with knows that the friendship and love between you is strong, if not stronger than your human relationships. Pets are so innocent, so perceptive, and they love you unconditionally without bounds or inhibitions. And, as I see every time I lose one of my little friends, the pain is as intense as the love and attachment you felt towards them. For some reason, in all her obnoxiousness and rowdiness, I loved Mrs. Spotty more than any dog I’ve owned. I think our mischievous and unbridled spirits connected with each other, and I was able to understand and love her in a way no one else could. She was a bit of a reject, bought for my then 4 year-old cousin, she did nothing but chew and chase him until he learned to navigate the house on countertops and the tops of furniture. “I don’t wike Tator.” He would say, until one day, Tater got kicked down the stairs, and they realized that she needed a new home. I remember the first time I saw her. A tiny, wrinkled bag of white spotted velvet with her pug nose pressed against the glass door as she sat, banished to the deck, looking in at our family inside the warm house. She was just a tiny pup, about the size of a football, and already causing trouble. I brought her in a held her until the squirming bag of needle teeth stopped biting and fell into a warm snorting sleep. I got the first call when Tater was looking for a new place to live. I brought her home, and Daddy was laying on the fold out couch, “Mrs. Spotty is my dog!” he said imitating the weird little kid we’d met a birthday party. And so it was for the little white biting bulldog with the brown spotted ears and the perfect black eyeliner. She went from being Tater, the despised, to Mrs. Spotty, the beloved, and our home was never the same. We had a lot of work to do, and it would have been even harder if it wasn’t so obvious how much Spotty loved us and wanted to be near us. She was rowdy, disobedient and almost uncontrollable even as a small, but unbelievable strong puppy. Of course Daddy and I were no help. We loved rough play and wild games of tug of war, that is, until it turned ugly. More than one enthusiastic puppy kiss turned into a bloody play bite. Things got ripped off the countertops. Spotty would escape into the horse field and we would spend an hour getting her back, upon which she would vomit horse s--- all over the kitchen having gorged herself while on her adventure. Her huge cavernous mouth, powerful jaws lined with gleaming teeth was always in motion. She would lie on her back in the kitchen, jaws munching, and Daddy would scratch her belly and sing the “Flipper” Song. “Everyone loves… the King of the Sea…so gentle and kind (NOT!) And brave is she…” We’re still not sure why that became her theme song. There was one thing that could earn Spotty’s attention and obedience and it was food. Her big brown almost human eyes would make intense contact with yours and she would sit in her “expectant bulldog” pose, her lower jaw jutting beneath the upper. We have Mommy to thank for gaining any control over this dog. While Daddy and I were away on our hike, Momma transformed this hyperactive battering ram of a dog into a hyperactive battering ram that would obey almost any command, as long as food was waiting as a reward. We were in awe when we returned. She would sit, wave with one paw, dance and spin a pirouette, and lie down and stay until instructed to move. Momma could then place a circle of treats around her and she would tensely watch and wait for her command to move. “OK!” she would say and the munching, wiggling whirlwind was once more released. Spotty certainly wasn’t all bad though. “She is just so full of love.” I would always joke, usually to be rebutted with “she’s full of something.” It was her high energy and enthusiasm that made me love her so much. She was the only bulldog I’ve ever met that was an athlete. She would run three miles, walk another 2 and come back and still want to be swung around by her jaws at the end of a rope. One of the most fun times I ever had with her was during the big snow last winter. I brought her up to the dam to go sled riding with me and soon found out that not only did she love going down the hill with me, she could balance all by herself propel the sled with one leg and even drag it back up the hill to do it all again. Such a crazy girl. She loved affection. I always called her my butt scratchin’ girl and she loved having her wrinkled velvet face and her spotted little ears cuddled, it was the only time she stopped moving. There was one other time Spotty would be still, and for all the farting and snoring, she was a joy to have slumber parties with, especially in the cold winter back at the trailer. She had to sleep under the covers, usually her head sharing my pillow and even through her snorting and occasionally being “Dutch ovened”, it was a joy to snuggle my warm little pup. Spotty overflowed with personality which she conveyed through a variety of very human like facial expressions, her stubby little “meat tail”, and her huge Walt Disney-like eyes. It was through those eyes that you really knew what Spotty was saying. They were huge, brown, and ringed in black liner more beautiful than a Maybelline model. They were usually filled with fire and expectancy as she sat there vibrating. Then her meat tail would give one or two wags and she would stand up on her hind legs, arch her back and lunge forward (almost knocking you over) unable to contain her joy to see you any longer. At not even three years old, you can imagine our shock when our girl was diagnosed with cancer. The lump on her ribs showed up almost overnight, and when we found out just how invasive and fast growing it was, we opted to give her the most enjoyable end of life we possibly could, and did not put her through any painful (and most likely unsuccessful) treatment. Spotty had only come to live with me in Lexington a short time when we found out she was sick, and she continued to live with me there for the rest of her life. We had a lot of good times together, she slept on the futon with me every night and was my constant source of affection and humor as I sat and studied biochemistry. As she became less inclined to eat, she was offered the most delicious things I could find for a dog: Vienna sausages, cheese, corned beef (all of which produced farts that could have been considered bioterrorism). As her energy levels decreased, a sweet, affectionate side of Spotty shone through that we had never seen before. She was my shadow, wherever I sat, she would come and lay her soft wrinkled face on my thigh, look up at me with those big eyes and give two or three wags of her meat tail. The feeling was mutual. During those last two months, I rarely went more than a few hours without being with her, and I don’t regret a minute of those precious hours. I prayed for God to be kind to my awful girl, and in the end, I guess He was a kind as he could be. She stayed in high spirits until the last two days, when her breathing became so labored that she could not lie down and the light and joy left her big beautiful eyes. She was ready to move on, but her humans were not ready to let go. The day she died, she mustered up the courage to give me a few wags of her meat tail and I spent the entire morning by her side trying to make her comfortable and calm, hoping she wouldn’t sense my distress and despair. I gave her pain medicine to try and let her rest, but even though her eyes told me she was exhausted, she could never lie down for very long. So before I left for my wilderness medicine meeting, I gave her an extra dose and she finally was able to relax. I kissed her velvety little head and told her I loved her one last time. When I returned, I thought she was sleeping by the door, but she was gone. A tidal wave of pain washed over me and I fell on the ground in a sobbing screaming heap. I kicked myself for not being there. I hated it that she died alone. I called my mom screaming and crying about the awful thing I’d done by leaving. “Don’t you realize,” my mom said, “Spotty was waiting for you to leave so she could pass on, it’s not natural for dogs to die in the presence of their pack.” I was Spotty’s pack, and her last kindness to me was passing on peacefully without my having to make the decision to put her to sleep. But this didn’t make it hurt any less. I am certain I will never have another dog like Mrs. Spotty. She was the best dog, and the worst dog, all rolled into a beautiful, wrinkled, white spotted bundle. She was a kindred spirit, and we loved and understood each other. We had wild, outrageous fun together and then could lie down and rest in smelly slumber. She was one of my best friends. I know in my heart of hearts that our spirits, and the spirits of our loved ones will all one day be reunited in heaven. Anyone who thinks animals don’t have a spirit, has never had a pet. I like to think of Spotty raising hell up in heaven, doing drive-bys on the angels, munching on something rancid, and finally being able to rest and sleep in snorting peace. And so it is the ones left behind that feel the most pain, and I really can’t bear to think of the loved ones I will lose in the future, I know this is not the last. However, God would not make us capable of such great love if death could sever these bonds. The hope that sustains me, and the hope that should sustain all of us is that we shall meet again, in a place where sickness and heartache do not exist. I can’t wait to get to the gates of heaven and greet all my pets, family and friends that have gone before, and I know Mrs. Spotty will be sitting there with her expectant bulldog eyes and her wagging little meat tail.

Just wanting to say thanks to the kind comments on my profile. It took me many years and a lot of soul searching to find peace and understanding about the essence of God and why we are here. I could not have done it with out my dad who has a very unique a beautiful view on spirituality. My dad and I spent 6 months in the woods together over the past year thru hiking the Appalachian Trail, and I can honestly say it was the most trying , beautiful and illuminating 6 months of my 24 years on this earth. We all still have so much to discover about God, His Creation and our own Spirit...it is what makes life interesting and worth while! Bless you all and thanks for your support and insight and may your own spiritual journey be joyous, amazing and never ending!