It hasn't gotten better. At all.
My dog Sunny died yesterday afternoon(Thursday).
So I stood on the back porch in the pouring rain thinking back over the memories of our lives and all the lessons she helped me find out, wondering "Now what?"
I mean, what do you do when you lose someone you've known since you were nine, talked you through hard times, deaths of family members, offered advice when needed, listened to whatever's going on... Without a dog to listen, what do you do in times like that? How do you cope? Who do you talk to?
This story begins somewhere in late May of 2002, we're all gathered at the town house in Westville to celebrate mine and my aunt's birthdays. Mom goes running to Harps for something or other, milk, maybe, and as soon as she gets back grabs Dad and shoots back out of the driveway. When they come back, they go find Mimi and hold a whispered conversation. After we open the presents, somebody says we need to come outside. So we go through the kitchen into the garage and - right there, in a little box with a newspaper carpet - was a puppy! A little, fuzzy, cute-looking, honey-colored beagle puppy!
Well, half beagle. The other half was Lhasa Apso. (I've NEVER been able to spell that.) That still remains one of the strangest pedigrees I've ever heard of.
I've always liked small-to-medium-sized dogs, probably because I'm kind of a smaller-sized person. And Wishbone was a Jack Russell, and who doesn't want a Wishbone of their own? (Or a Buddy, for that matter?) But, anyway, I loved beagles especially, after seeing Inspector Gadget after the first garage sale we had in Morris, I sort of fell in love with Penny's beagle Brain. And Sport, well, he was good, but he was big. And he was more of Mom's dog more than anyone else's.
So there were these puppies at Harps, about eight weeks old, that were half beagle and half Lhasa Apso. The only Lhasa Apsos I knew were Taz and Ty Rae next door, who were always yapping whenever I'd play ball in the backyard. Anyway, Mom and Dad picked out the most beagle-ish-looking one for me.
I decided to name her Sunshine, calling her Sunny most of the time. I was one of the happiest boys in the world, first a basketball goal for my eighth birthday, and then a puppy for my ninth.
She was a mischievous puppy. Always digging holes and escaping the yard, then trotting triumphantly around the neighborhood. If I could fit my sneaker into a hole in the chain-link fence, she could and did escape from there. A place where an armadillo punched a gap through gave me particular trouble. So I'm very good at plugging holes in fences now with whatever's handy; rocks, sticks, cement blocks, overturned wagons, etc. Other than that, she joined the neighborhood's Dog Club quickly and fit in seamlessly. She also developed her camouflaging abilities, hiding in plain sight in the dead grass. She was very good at that.
Her name didn't really match her personality; she was always a little gloomy, complaining or worrying about something. Like owner like pet, maybe? Very rarely was she "happy", but contented, more or less, and when things were well, her joyfullness was something to see, radiating a warm glow of happiness out to reach whoever was nearby.
The next year we got Shadow, a large ball of fun-loving energy, the half Lab/half Airedale was the only dog I've ever successfully taught how to play fetch. He became second-in-rank pretty quickly, just because of his size, and so Sunny settled resignedly into the role of the pack's omega dog.
Well, we moved across the county to Beggs about a year and a half later, and the next summer she had her first litter of puppies on the day of Ronald Reagan's funeral. There were nine of them, all given weather-related names: Avalanche, Cloudy, Eclipse, Hailey, Hurricane, Sunset, Thunderbolt, Windy and Pawprint. Courtney named Pawprint, because he had a large black paw-mark on the side of his white coat. He only lived about three days, before we could name the rest. Three puppies were stillborn, so they remain nameless.
I was freaking out, so was Sunny, it was STRESSFUL!
Cloudy, Eclipse and Pawprint were black-and-white, Cloudy fit his name well, he was sorta dull and drab. Eclipse was sweet, but otherwise pretty average, too. Thunderbolt and Hurricane were solid brown, the color of a slightly-melted Hershey's on a sunny day. Thunderbolt, named after the famous TV star in 101 Dalmatians, was very much a rough-and-tumble kind of guy, a leader, very bossy. Hurricane was one of the runts, he was kind of timid, and he got picked on often. The siblings he got along with best were Hailey and Windy. They were Shadow's; with his mostly-black-with-brown-trim coloring. Hailey was the smallest of any of them, even Hurricane was bigger, but she was spunky. She'd always be willing to play or fight with anybody, and got into lots of arguments with Sunset. She got her name from Hailey's Comet, which I think I was studying about then. Windy was one of the largest puppies, and by far the most lethargic. She just never did anything, and she smelled terrible. I think she had some kind of disability(yes, I think dogs can have special needs). Avalanche was certainly overshadowed by his twin, he was always second-best at most games. Sunset was the oldest, and so she had all those qualities that go with it. She was tops at everything or near it, skilled not only at her Playing Games classes and nosing her way to the front of the food line, but also other important subjects such as Listening to People, Cuddling and Looking Cute. She even did decently well in Intro to Fetch. And she and Avalanche had that classic beagle calico coat, splotches of light and dark brown on a white base coat.
My favorites of this litter were Sunset and Hailey, it was incredibly hard to see them leave. Of course Sunset was the first pup chosen, and then Hurricane and Avalanche. Hailey was close behind them to finding her Mys, and so we took the rest to Wal-Mart one day, in order to find homes for them. It was hot that day. The rest found homes, Windy getting chosen last. Except for Eclipse. She was one of the pups in the running to stay, her main rivals for this honor were Sunset, Avalanche and Hailey. And then when they were chosen by other people, she was picked to stay and grow up as the fourth member of the dog pack.
Several years went by, and it was time for Sunny to have another litter, this bunch was born near my birthday. This time their names were delayed by the fact that Dad and I were in Kansas City. We'd already used a weather theme; and flowers were reserved for cats; as was Pixar characters. So we went with candy. These puppies were Fastbreak, Hershey, Kit Kat, Snickers, M&M, Milky Way, Overload, Payday, Rolo, Snickers and Twix. They were tolerated grumpily by Sport, Shadow was sort of an uncle to the ones that weren't his. Klipsey, a young teenager by now, was the ditzy babysitter most of the time. "Mom, I'll watch the kids if you'll give me a raise on my food allowance!"
Fastbreak, Milky Way and Overload were all solid brown like Hurricane and Thunderbolt were, the calicoed pups were Kit Kat, Snickers, Payday and Twix, and Shadow's were Hershey, M&M and Rolo.
Most of them weren't as full-of-personality as the first litter, and it wasn't as easy to tell them all apart. Rolo was fat, like the candy, and stationary. Fastbreak was named after the then-new Reese's Fastbreak bar, Overload was a Reese's-like candy found only at QuikTrip with cookies set on top of the peanut butter cups.
Kit Kat and Snickers were the top dogs, I guess, taking the roles passed to them by Avalanche and Sunset. I had this dream once, just after they'd all been taken, that I'm coming around the house headed for the barn, and Snickers is leading this charge of puppies towards me. And then I could suddenly see out of my right eye. Always sort of wished that dream really happened.
And besides being a sort-of-grouchy mother, Sunny was a very good listener. Whether it was moving, or trying to cope with deaths or whatever, she was always there to help things get straightened out.
This grief....it's like when Mimi died. Grandmothers are wonderful people, and their love is only matched by dogs'. You can talk about just about anything with them. And the hurt in the empty space once they go, it never fully heals. And not just when Mimi died, either. Dado, too. And to a definitely lesser extent, Nina, Grandma Bates or Grandma Joy.
Not even just people, animals' deaths sting, too. When the puppies were gone, Shadow was shot, Klipsey run over, Sport died, Jenny arrested, Pepper's owner was found, the disappearances of Ann, Dan and Georgie.
The long list of wonderful cats, each special in their own way. Meowie, Princess, Daisy, Minnie, Creek, Cricket, Firefly, Buzz, Milo, Dodge, Cadillac, Tulip, Dot, Lady, Liesel, Brigitta, Duchess, Skittles, Benjy, Maggie, Meg, the others I can't quite remember.
Dixie the paint horse sold at the auction, the deaths of Rocky and Swiftdust the guinea pigs, Libby the goat hanging herself. Stormy, Lucy, Lizzie and Patty the goats moving.
Dealing with the remodeling, all that chaos; or talking about the frustrations of finding a place in the church, in the youth group, with the homeschool group, problems about girls, things going on in friends' lives needing prayer, she'd listen. Life is confusing, and a good dog can do wonders. It's also hard, and they help cheer us up, remind us that they still love us, even if things aren't going right.
When Trevor or Amy was on the way or being born, or we were considering adopting that Russian girl with spina bifida, or those times of deep loneliness, when friends were scarce and the younger kids were all doing something together, wondering what life would be like if the baby between Courtney and I had lived, always thought of it as a sister named Lindsay. She would've been about a year younger than me.
Helping with when I was working on a new story and some point wasn't resolving itself right, or the plot suddenly ran dead, or which characters could be introduced to make the story better. Pondering the amazing work of Pixar, or the people behind Sam Raimi's Spider-Man movies. Jan Karon's beautifully-done town of Mitford, the characters found in the Anne of Green Gables series, The Princess Bride, Charlotte's Web, The Book of Virtues, going through the Chronicles of Narnia for the zillionth time.
With the choir, and then drama, all the musicals and plays, that were really pointless by themselves, but incredibly important at the time and key in my growing up.
When I was drowning in red tape, trying to attempt to learn to drive, what life could be if that was possible, how much easier in some ways it would be. As one example, that's sort of why I haven't really been in a relationship but that once. I could get an actual job anyplace when things were slow at the paper, go hang out with friends any time. Things like that. All the mess of trying to figure out what I wanted to study in college, the forms that needed filling out ASAP, applying to a few colleges, the endless questioning of well-meaning people, figuring out which college to attend, the agony of life this past year in a spiritually vacant bubble.
All the weird injuries; my breaking a finger playing basketball or a toe running into a cardboard box, Dad falling off a ladder and hurting his ribs, or the roof and tearing up his shoulder, Caleb and Trevor splitting their heads open on furniture.
I was scared to death just before heading to camp, and nervous about Youth Tour, unsure about graduation, petrified of college. Sunny helped calm me down, told me I'd get through them.
She was lying there by my feet providing comfort and encouragement when typing or writing an article, hiding under my bed when there were storms or Mom was going to get her in trouble for something. She didn't completely understand my wanting to learn to play guitar, but was there to say something good all the times when I wanted to fire Abby Lee into the wall and give up.
She took up chronicling local events for her weekly gossip column in the Fenceville Weekly News, of course, I had to help her type, since dogs don't have thumbs, but she dictated. It was also good practice for me.
So...I'm still not doing too well. And all too soon I have to go back to (shudders) college. Without Sunny as backup, or Skeet. Copper understands college a little better than they did, but they knew me so well. Things seem messy and complicated already, before all this, now - What on Earth am I supposed to do now, Lord? What could I possibly be learning? How can I go on to face whatever's coming? God seems kind of far away right now, His promises I'm having trouble clinging to. That sounds horrible to say, but...animals are usually easier to get along with than people. And grief is hard, when it's someone you love.
I know she was just a dog. But, at the same time, you have to realize: She was a dog, and everything that goes with that. She was my dog. There's only one or two dogs who ever are tasked with that crucial task of raising a boy. One of the quotes from The Little Rascals that's always stuck with me, besides the all the obvious lines, is when Stymie tells Alfalfa, "All I know is, you only make a once-in-a-lifetime buddy, once in a lifetime."
Amanda messaged me late last night, kind of a "bearing one another's burdens" sort of thing. That was good. Ravi, too, and Steven and Jamie and Shelly and several other people also expressed their condolences. It isn't much, but at the same time, it means everything. Kind of like after the fire, or with Mrs. Boyer's card, or a volleyball game being played when needed. One of those evidences of God's mercy and faithfulness when otherwise it's very dark.
Things will, very slowly, begin to get better at some point. Eventually the ache will be tucked away, the gushing wound mostly stitched shut. But that time isn't here just yet.
Love you, Sunny. Miss you so, so much.
No comments:
Post a Comment