Big dog is sick. I don't have to believe it because there's something growing in his mouth. What I have to believe is that it will undo him. When I was told the news, my vigilant watch began. It's hard to know how heightened my senses have become. I listen to his breath, his snores. I watch him twitch when he dreams. I woke up this morning, almost afraid to go to him. Would he be in a pool of blood because I slept overnight? I read something into his every look. He comes to me with enormous brown/black eyes - lumps of coal in the snowy white face. I translate those looks through my feeble, spiritually disconnected, limp, selfish human filter. Last night I thought he was trying to tell me that time was getting shorter. He followed me and needed to be touching me. His paw reached out as if to say, "stay close friend." We laid by the fire some more, my hand on his side, massaging, stroking, scratching, so he would know of my deep love. I wondered how the clock was ticking. Then, all of a sudden, dogs bark and out he and they go, running full out to the back of the big yard. Barking, chasing, leaping, protecting. Being true to their work and breeding. My big white protectors. I laugh at myself and all that I'm fabricating in my mind about this moment.
To be fair though, this fabricating isn't all bad. I'm trying to make sense of this time. I'm trying to learn about what it means to be living and what it means to know it's not forever. I was (am) afraid I'd spend every moment feeling that weight around my neck of grief and sadness. I did have days where my arms felt loaded down with rocks, too heavy to raise all the way. Utter grief. My friend is going to leave. How will I get through this? Then, I tried to place myself in his world - yes, Klondike's. I do believe that these canine beasts, and this one in particular, are aware of our energy and emotions. Are we sad, sick, angry, happy, content? I think he would know if I was wallowing in distress, anxiety, fear, sadness. I think he would also know if I was in a place of gratitude, love, and the sheer delight of being with him no matter the circumstances. So, by grace I have been able to spend time in the latter. And we are enjoying hours of rest, and hours of walks, hours of him being the keeper of the yard. Days on days have been given to hibernate together in this house, and by a lit hearth. The other dogs have been calm and patient. We have been quiet together. We have been reading Mary Oliver, and Dog Sense. They have been sitting near while I read and work. It's been cold, and he likes it. The cold, winter days have been a gift for me too...more justification in hibernating, more still, more quiet.
I will continue to try to interpret his looks and movements. I have always believed he has given me exactly what I have needed, when I have needed it. He's a calm force. He is patient. He is content. He is happy, loving, attentive. He's predictable. He's ready when I'm ready - for a car ride, a walk, a nap. He snores every night the most contented, snuffly, beautiful, loud snore. I don't mind. I am soothed by it.
We will take each moment.
