Seeing Double

This is a personal story. The animals are mine. The memories are mine.

The process of getting through it is a personal journey - grief. Some would rather not experience the devastation and near-death of their soul through the loss of a loved one. Some are afraid and some, like me, understand the need to go there, where it's agonizing to awaken each day realizing we really are alone. Or are we?

Notice that I have chosen "alone" rather than "lonely", for my experience during the grieving process is that I am alone with my memories. I am alone with my loss, it's not possible to have a shared experience because the relationship was exclusive; one on one, me with her and me with him. For me, the process repeats every year when one of my pets dies. I didn't plan for them to all pass within such a short window of time. I was not prepared to begin the final countdown so frequently. .preparation for the death of a companion is as much a part of the grieving as the physical final breath. Whether assisted or natural, the loss is permanent.

Loss consumes me; my five senses atrophy and my memories do not provide sustenance. I am not the same woman, I am less. I exist as a lesser being for part of me vanished when he or she died. Eventually, I believe that I will cease to exist. I won't recognize my reflection. It is a frightening eventuality.

It happened again, just months ago and it is most likely an approaching reality before the year ends.  So the total losses this year will be two. One year it was four. I didn't think I could recover. I'm no better at getting through now even though there have been a dozen dress rehearsals in recent years.

There is something strong and resilient within me and I am grateful. I do not choose to seek out this refuge from the storm. I can't share it. I cannot explain why it happens, but I can share that it sustains and nourishes my soul - constantly. I open my heart. I ask for possibilities and expect "yes" from the universal voices. Yesterday, "yes" came twice. "Yes" came as a pair. I am bringing two home from the animal shelter.

I didn't know I was going to that place; wasn't on my schedule. Following a morning Tai Chi class, we were going to junk around town.  My neighbor and I had been attending a three day per week course through the continuing education division of the state college. I always drove as she preferred it and she always bought lunch as I preferred it.  We've recently reconnected, strange really, because she lives right next door. We see each other every day, but my life has been void of social entanglements for man years in favor of raising two kids and community volunteer opportunities. I'm just not that into neighborhood gossip and we don't have many shared interests. Maybe that will change, it's up to me.

The animal shelter wasn't EXACTLY on the way home, but she's also a pet owner and I just chanced the opportunity to do something nice for someone. Thought I would leave a donation or maybe give a couple of the dogs a well-deserved bath.

That's how it started with Sam, my companion of seventeen years. Sam is gone now and I'm down to two. Unrelated - one with bone cancer and allergic to everything that blooms here. The other is aging gracefully with a temperament matching her breed description. Both were rescues. At the time they joined the herd, there were probably three or four other dogs and a couple of cats already comfortable and very much in charge of my house.

We arrived at the shelter and my neighbor didn't want to go in. Her option was to wait in the car and I said I would be awhile. She followed me through the door marked "adoptions", and down the hall to the kennels. Pretty soon, she was way ahead of me, on the way back down the aisle ready to go.  "I want to visit with this one," I said. She sighed. We went back through the main building and I signed in with my name and name of the canine inmates. You may feel that description harsh, but what else would you call a life in a cage. Within minutes we were in a small room with a single curtained window concrete floors, a locked cabinet, and three orange plastic chairs with chrome legs. On top the cabinet was a jar of varied doggie treats and a basket of squeaky toys was on the floor opposite the row of chairs.

In came the inmate, a young female Labrador. She was bouncy and bounded repeatedly high enough to clear the top of the door. Not a good match. I didn't want to visit any other and we got ready to leave and then...

I noticed a bulletin board with photos and "captured or surrendered" dates on them; all of lap size breeds. I looked behind me to discover a room with rows on top of rows of cages. The diminutive inmates noticed me noticing them and began conversations all at once.  The iron swing gate at the door of this room was guarded by a much larger pit bull named "Ranger." He was not ready for adoption yet as he was recovering from heartworm. He was on the urgent list.

I picked two, stranded my friend in the hallway and went to inquire about them. Dachshunds and most likely siblings as they were strays brought in by animal control. The date of capture was two weeks earlier. Maybe they weren't available. My heart sank. I asked anyway.  My friend was right where I had abandoned her.  Taking her by an elbow, I led her into that same room with three orange plastic chairs and we sat. She

didn't utter a syllable.  

I knew we would be waiting a couple of minutes because a quick criminal background check was in progress. If I wanted to adopt one, additional screening would follow. They will not adopt out any animal to a person who has relinquished one and their records go back to 1957.

In came one. "Yes." In came the other. It was another "yes". 

Barbara and I each held them. I trusted her opinion. The senior adoption counselor came in and asked if I wanted to visit with any other.  I had made up my mind and with my friend's blessing, and most probably an accompanying sign of the cross, I knew the next step would be having my husband meet them.

I didn't want to leave because it was possible someone else could come in and adopt them during the time I drove home, delivered my neighbor safely to her front door, run in to get my husband (who had to change out of his at home wardrobe) and return. There were many more details including apologizing to my two senior dogs that they had to get into the car and meet the dachshund pair. 

The ending of this tale is written in the voice of my Weimaraner, Abbey in "Through the Eyes of Love" in A Kiss on the Nose and yes, it has a happy ending. . .