How true. How sadly true.
Here, we are a four-dog household. We are animal lovers, and we own them. And certainly, we couldn't imagine life without the dogs. They create so much fun and happiness (more fun and happiness than most humans we've had the pleasure to have known have ever created, in point of fact). A quote attributed to another great classic actor, Burgess Meredith, sums it up nicely: "The more people I meet, the more I love my dog."
Dogs are truly special creatures. Chris and I don't anthropomorphize them - we're well aware that dogs are dogs, and as such do things for their own reasons, and are not human. Yet they are, in many ways, like humans. They have understanding and forethought, and contrary to what the "great chain of being" school of bullshit claims, they have souls. Mind you this isn't just something that we believe to be true - animal behaviorists make this very point in an article in today's Seattle Times, "Dogs Have Souls, but You Already Knew That". Not that we needed the animal behaviorists' confirmation of this...if ever you look into the eyes of a dog, you can see wisdom, thought, understanding and love looking back at you. As Plato was quoted to have said, "All the knowledge and wisdom of the universe is contained in the eyes of the dog." If that's not evidence of a soul, I don't know what is.
There is, however, one burden that non-human creatures, including dogs, do not carry, that we humans do - the understanding of mortality. Of all the creatures that roam the Earth, we humans are the only ones burdened with the knowledge that someday we are going to die. And that those we love, both two-legged and four-legged, are someday going to die as well. And this burden is a bastard to carry.
I find myself reflecting on this from time to time as concerns our two older dogs, Bix and Theda. Bix is a male Norwegian Elkhound, proud, brave, stubborn and stoic - a true Elkhound in every way. This past August, our Bix turned ten years old. Check him out:
Six months younger than our Bix is our beautiful female German Shepherd Dog Theda, also ten years old as of this past March. Bix was our first dog, and Theda was our second. Bix was six months old when we brought home the bewildered, scared seven-week-old Theda. She rapidly became attached to Bix, and followed him everywhere. Bix for his part accepted the role of Big Brother and taught and mentored his Little Sis. She grew into a beautiful, muscular, protective, loving, goofy and slightly nervous doggie. Check her out:
As I look at these two recent photos of our first babies, I find myself feeling...
Sad. Apprehensive.
Why?
Because I am burdened with the knowledge of their mortality. As I look at their beautiful, now grey-muzzled faces, I think, "Where have my puppies gone?" And I wonder how much time they have left. If you are a dog lover and owner, reading this, I am sure this very thought has crossed your mind from time to time. Especially if you have older dogs, as we do.
I admit, there is a degree of selfishness in all of this. Naturally, like most humans, I don't want these two wonderful creatures to die because I don't want to imagine my life without them. I also dread the heart-wrenching decision that most dog owners eventually have to make - when is keeping the dog alive no longer a kindness, but an act of selfishness? When is the right time to release his/her soul to the Rainbow Bridge, because the quality of life is no longer there?
Chris says, don't think about these things. It'll only depress you. And the time will come soon enough when these things will actually happen. Don't make yourself feel bad about it before you have to.
How I wish I could just stop thinking about these things. But I cannot. And I know Chris cannot either, despite his effort to be brave.
But what to do? Some people, after they lose a dog, vow never to have another, because the pain of the loss was so great that they cannot bear to go through it again. I've thought about that. But then again, is that really the right solution? To close your heart and your home to a creature that brings such happiness, joy and love, because you don't want to go through the pain of them dying someday?
Hell, no, it's not the right solution. Not for Chris and me, anyway.
I guess we're just fated to be like the narrator of Annette King-Tucker's beautiful poem "I Am An Animal Rescuer", who has fallen in love a thousand times, and cried into the fur of a lifeless body too many times to count...whose home is never quiet, whose wallet is always empty...but whose heart is always full. Only sometimes those feelings are sad. I guess you've just got to believe that all the happiness those beautiful creatures with a soul bring is worth any sadness at the end.
The knowledge of mortality is a bastard of a burden to carry.
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