Famous dogs have been dying of late. First Oprah's, now Martha's. No mocking here (I'll leave that to others). Commiseration is my only response. But, it did make me think of the poem my Mom gave me many years ago. Well before Cubby died. It was an ode to a dying dog. I always had trouble reading it without tearing up. [Yeah, I'm a sensitive guy. But most of you know this. Deal with it.]
Anyway, Mom gave me a clipping of the poem which didn't have the author. Posted it on my personal website with "Unknown" in place of the author's name. I've passed along that poem several times. But, I never investigated further. Until Martha's dog died.
It's amazing what can be found on Google. I typed in the first line of the poem. And, poof! There it was. Author's name and all. Beth Norman Harris. The poem is quoted with several titles and there are several variations in the concluding verses. The one I originally received is the version I like best. With my bastardized title. Thanks Beth. And you too, Martha. This is as close to closure as I'm going to get.
A Dog's Plea (An Ode to Faithful Companions)
by Beth Norman Harris
Treat me kindly, my beloved friend, for no heart in all the world is more grateful for kindness than the loving heart of me.
Do not break my spirit with a stick, for although I should lick your hand between blows, your patience and understanding will quickly teach me the things you would have me learn.
Speak to me often, for your voice is the world's sweetest music, as you must know by the fierce wagging of my tail when your footsteps falls upon my waiting ear.
Please take me inside when it is cold and wet, for I am a domesticated animal, no longer accustomed to bitter elements. I ask no greater glory than the privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth. Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for I cannot tell you when I suffer thirst.
Feed me clean food that I may stay well, to romp and play and do your bidding, to walk by your side and stand ready, willing and able to protect you with my life, should your life be in danger.
And, my friend, when I am very old, and I no longer enjoy good health, hearing and sight, do not make heroic efforts to keep me going. I am not having any fun. Please see that my trusting life is taken gently. I shall leave this earth knowing with the last breath I draw that my fate was always safest in your hands.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Unconditional Puppy Love
I wasn't sure whether I really wanted to post about this. Which is precisely why I probably should.
The other day I was unpacking and organizing thousands of photos, enlargements, negatives, and slides. I knew it was coming. And, I put it off as my last unpacking chore. My collective body of work (both personal and professional) had been winnowed down a few moves before, but I always like to revisit and re-evaluate it from a fresh perspective. And because I had to put organize my office so it actually resembled an office.
Some of the negatives and photos had been placed into labeled folders. As I was moving and shifting things around, the contents of one of the folders spilled out. I went to put it all back and realized it contained photos of my dog Cubby who passed away in 2000. I hadn't looked at the photos in a while. I came to this one. And the tears began to fall.
Over seven years gone and I still miss her. Over the years, I've shared my thoughts with a few friends about how important Cubby was to me. So, maybe it's time to put more of the story out there. To fill in the gaps. To make the next time less painful.
It's always best when you are chosen. And I was by Cubby. It was 1986. I had just graduated college and moved back home with my parents. My Dad went with me to the breeder's house to view the last three pups (all females) in a litter of eight. Field dogs. Intelligent. Cute. The owners tried to steer me to one of the bigger, more classical looking pups. But, when I squatted down to get a closer look at them, one jumped up in my lap and stared up at me. The runt. Cubby. She had chosen me. My decision had been made for me.
Through the years, Cubby and I shared the highs (like scaling 14,000 ft peaks) and the lows. The lows were quite low. Knowing I was different. Not knowing how to be strong enough to lead the life I wanted. I geographically separated myself from family and dropped out of communication with friends. All because I feared rejection. And through it all, Cubby was there. Her love was unconditional. Her eyes offered no judgment.
And then I decided that it was time to lead my life. It was 1999, and I was living in California. Trying to figure out where to live. What to do. Cubby was 13 and slowing down. She needed more attention. She needed a yard. I felt she needed more than what I could offer at that point in my life. And the guilt I'll carry is knowing that all she needed me. And I couldn't be there for her. In stepped my parents. They offered to take Cubby. For what I knew would be her final few years. So, I drove Cubby back to Maine. Back to where she started her life with me. Back to what I hoped was familiar and comforting. Back to the welcoming arms of my parents.
A little over a year later, I was at work in Santa Monica. My Mom called. Cubby had collapsed. She was weak. At the vet, the decision was made to bring her home and see if she made it through the night and, possibly, improved. In the morning, her condition was the same. And I had to make the decision. From afar. The vet offered to come to my parent's house. As they administered the drugs to put her to sleep, I told my Mom to do something. When Cubby was a puppy and couldn't (or wouldn't) sleep, I would curl up next to her, stroke head head, and whisper in her ear "It's okay, little girl. Go to sleep." over and over. That is what I told my Mom to do.
I can never thank my parents enough for being so generous as to accept Cubby into their home. Knowing they would be left to deal directly with her death. It was hard on them both.
Getting your dog's ashes in the mail is a strange experience. Who knew opening a Fed-Ex package would evoke such strong emotions? Cubby's remains have been scattered over some of our favorite places: Mt. Sanitas in Boulder, Colorado; Ferry Beach in Scarborough Maine; Dog Beach in Ocean Beach, California. And one place she never saw in person. Her ashes are part of the Big Island of Hawaii; one of my favorite places She was incorporated into the landscape when a lobe of lava enveloped her ashes and puppy collar. It makes me smile knowing that she is out there in the world.
Over the years, many of my friends got to know Cubby and brought her into their lives. Special thanks to Daryl and Bob - your love and care for Cubby will never be forgotten.
Cubby was important to me. She was an integral part of my life. She was part of my identity. For 13 years, we were nearly inseparable. And now, sometimes, that separation hurts.
Cubby lives on in my memory. And, occasionally, in my dreams. Always in photos. I've had a photo collection of her on the web for years.
The other day I was unpacking and organizing thousands of photos, enlargements, negatives, and slides. I knew it was coming. And, I put it off as my last unpacking chore. My collective body of work (both personal and professional) had been winnowed down a few moves before, but I always like to revisit and re-evaluate it from a fresh perspective. And because I had to put organize my office so it actually resembled an office.
Some of the negatives and photos had been placed into labeled folders. As I was moving and shifting things around, the contents of one of the folders spilled out. I went to put it all back and realized it contained photos of my dog Cubby who passed away in 2000. I hadn't looked at the photos in a while. I came to this one. And the tears began to fall.
Over seven years gone and I still miss her. Over the years, I've shared my thoughts with a few friends about how important Cubby was to me. So, maybe it's time to put more of the story out there. To fill in the gaps. To make the next time less painful. It's always best when you are chosen. And I was by Cubby. It was 1986. I had just graduated college and moved back home with my parents. My Dad went with me to the breeder's house to view the last three pups (all females) in a litter of eight. Field dogs. Intelligent. Cute. The owners tried to steer me to one of the bigger, more classical looking pups. But, when I squatted down to get a closer look at them, one jumped up in my lap and stared up at me. The runt. Cubby. She had chosen me. My decision had been made for me.
Through the years, Cubby and I shared the highs (like scaling 14,000 ft peaks) and the lows. The lows were quite low. Knowing I was different. Not knowing how to be strong enough to lead the life I wanted. I geographically separated myself from family and dropped out of communication with friends. All because I feared rejection. And through it all, Cubby was there. Her love was unconditional. Her eyes offered no judgment.
And then I decided that it was time to lead my life. It was 1999, and I was living in California. Trying to figure out where to live. What to do. Cubby was 13 and slowing down. She needed more attention. She needed a yard. I felt she needed more than what I could offer at that point in my life. And the guilt I'll carry is knowing that all she needed me. And I couldn't be there for her. In stepped my parents. They offered to take Cubby. For what I knew would be her final few years. So, I drove Cubby back to Maine. Back to where she started her life with me. Back to what I hoped was familiar and comforting. Back to the welcoming arms of my parents.
A little over a year later, I was at work in Santa Monica. My Mom called. Cubby had collapsed. She was weak. At the vet, the decision was made to bring her home and see if she made it through the night and, possibly, improved. In the morning, her condition was the same. And I had to make the decision. From afar. The vet offered to come to my parent's house. As they administered the drugs to put her to sleep, I told my Mom to do something. When Cubby was a puppy and couldn't (or wouldn't) sleep, I would curl up next to her, stroke head head, and whisper in her ear "It's okay, little girl. Go to sleep." over and over. That is what I told my Mom to do.
I can never thank my parents enough for being so generous as to accept Cubby into their home. Knowing they would be left to deal directly with her death. It was hard on them both.
Getting your dog's ashes in the mail is a strange experience. Who knew opening a Fed-Ex package would evoke such strong emotions? Cubby's remains have been scattered over some of our favorite places: Mt. Sanitas in Boulder, Colorado; Ferry Beach in Scarborough Maine; Dog Beach in Ocean Beach, California. And one place she never saw in person. Her ashes are part of the Big Island of Hawaii; one of my favorite places She was incorporated into the landscape when a lobe of lava enveloped her ashes and puppy collar. It makes me smile knowing that she is out there in the world.
Over the years, many of my friends got to know Cubby and brought her into their lives. Special thanks to Daryl and Bob - your love and care for Cubby will never be forgotten.
Cubby was important to me. She was an integral part of my life. She was part of my identity. For 13 years, we were nearly inseparable. And now, sometimes, that separation hurts.
Cubby lives on in my memory. And, occasionally, in my dreams. Always in photos. I've had a photo collection of her on the web for years.
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