The saying is that our dogs will greet us when we get to heaven. I sure hope so. We lost our family pet of nine and a half years last night in what was one of the most tragic and heartbreaking nights I’ve ever been a part of. What was diagnosed as kennel cough turned into something different. At 9:30 I was preparing for bed. At 11:30 I was shoveling dirt on top of Lucy’s grave along with my wife and children. We had been at the emergency animal hospital in hopes that they could do something. The dog died in my wife’s arms on the way as I was furiously driving through red lights with the hazard lights flashing and sobs crying out. I’ll never forget it. Lucy was a good dog. She was my wife’s dog. We’ve wondered repeatedly what we missed, what we did wrong, my wife especially. Lots of tears late last night. Lots of tears this morning. My mind imagines heaven with Lucy waiting at the gates. She’ll be happy to see me and my children, but she’ll dance like she used to do when she sees my wife. Losing the dog was hard. Watching my wife lose the dog is what’s hurting so bad.
What is it about the magic of a dog that captures us so? Why do we connect to them so well, so deeply? People have grieved over the loss of pets for centuries. The Egyptians mummified their dogs to join them in the afterlife. Odysseus’s dog, Argos, recognizes him after twenty years and Odysseus struggles to hold back tears and that was written in the 8th century BCE. Dogs make meaningful eye contact. They show emotions. Their personalities become parts of our households. We talk to them. We complain to them. We sing to them. They never complain. They never walk away. They live fully in each moment, and their main aim in life is to please you and me, all for a simple scratch or a belly rub, all for such short moments of interaction.
I didn’t realize how much I liked Lucy. She and I had a simple ritual each morning when she’d come to my morning reading chair and place her chin on my knee and ask for attention. I made a fuss of putting my book and coffee down and scratching her, telling her she was selfish and greedy, but I loved it that she wanted my attention; that my attention meant so much to her. I didn’t realize how much I liked her and that I’d be missing her so much right now.
I can see the fresh dirt along the fence in the back yard. There were lots of tears as each of us took turns tossing dirt into the grave. In time the leaves and pine straw will cover the dirt, and Lucy will fade in our memories like the other dogs we’ve had, but this one is hurting right now, and the only joy I can find in any of it is the image of Lucy waiting in heaven for my wife, tail wagging, head up, front feet tapping in anticipation.
You were a good dog, Lucy. You’ll be missed.
I’m Cam Marston, and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.
