Today my dog killed a chicken, and fatally injured another. Once a dog gets the taste of blood, he will always kill again. They were our own chickens, not some belonging to an irate, country neighbor, but it is a grief filled event, a turning point in my sense of self and family. While waiting to see if the second one will pull through, my heart is thick in my throat and my bowels unsettle my stomach far to much for the dinner I so carefully prepared. The grief and anger of the lost chickens will pass, but letting go of my dog is a tragic event that propels me further into a sense of isolation and abandonment, a sense that has been growing inside of me for a a long slow descent of years now, into unknown territory.
This is the only dog I have ever owned, The only pet to be with me through thick and thin besides to many cats to count. I love cats, but they come and go. This dog has been with me a while, he outlasted one marriage, five major moves and three extreme life transitions. He isn't even very old, merely seven years, six of the hardest ones I have ever lived through. This dog is MY DOG! My only dog, ever, not some animal I befriended because of a sister, spouse, or child. Not a temporary favor to a lost or couch surfing friend, but MY dog. I even had a doctors prescription once to keep him in my apartment building because he calmed my anxiety and motivated me to get out of bed in the morning during the depths of depression.
Lets dissect the effects of this monumental decision:
The dog has been such a mixed blessing all along, but he helped me to escape the isolation of being alone when first my daughter then my husband left me holding the pieces of the life I had tried so hard to build for us all after numerous, financial disasters. The Dog still loved me, was still excited about the craziest little things and still stuck his cold nose on me to get me up when the cat wanted in.
The dog held me together in the darkest days, and over the years helped me make new friends everywhere I went. My eventual popularity was largely due to my very out going and friendly dog who could melt the coldest most uptight seeming colleagues into instant allies. The dog is the last of my deepest, sense of family. The dog was a rescue with abandonment issues of his own, and abandoning him again leaves a hole in my chest that abandons a part of my self as well. Giving up my dog, feels like giving up ON my dog, having him taken away creates a further sense of alone-ness inside of me, a place no person fills. Dog spelled backwards is God. I feel I owe him more.
On the flip side:
In many ways letting go of my dog is one more link to a past I am more then ready to move away from and cut the remaining ties too. I am in a new life now, with a new and loving partner, whom I adore. I often feel the shadow of His hurtful past looming between us, I certainly don't want anything else contributing to that insecurity. Sending the dog to the next loving owner, someone who has the time and resources to care for him frees me to pursue the things I have felt calling my spirit, tugging at my sense of longing. It suggests the ability to pursue the fickle mistress of adventure whenever she calls me to travel, or chase a rainbow for my writing, or explore some new and exotic experience in my own backyard.
Letting go of the dog takes the pressure off my partner to care for both of our dogs when I go on an art binge!During those times I barely eat or sleep for days because I simply must write, or paint or chase ghosts and aliens, or walk weird lines on the road, and count stars, or headlights, or pine cones to better understand some obsession that has fired my imagination. When this state of mind overtakes me everything else in life falls to the wayside, the housework, dog walks, food preparation; anyone living with me counts themselves lucky if we actually have toilet paper in the house during those brief bursts of gestation and productivity. Having one less, very demanding dog could be a blessing. But what about the other lonely dog?
Nothing lasts forever. Everything in this life is temporary. Having been through two failed marriages, and reinventing myself and my identity and my persona almost as many times as Madonna, I of all people know this. But as a sentimental person with no sense of having been valued or nurtured as a child, I have no sense of roots other then the ones I have attempted to create myself and had ripped away time and time again. The child in me resists and objects, but then gives up the fight and simply goes numb. Reflecting the feelings of any child faced with repeated loss and no sense of control, "why care about anything? everyone leaves. Why care or be vulnerable to anyone at all?"
This train of thought brings me to a deeper and more direct understanding of what is happening in the head and heart of a special little girl that I know. And as I make that association I cannot help but think this tragic seeming event might just be the answer to a prayer I made recently. A prayer to somehow help her find peace and relieve the grief and anger that weighs so heavy on her and lies between her and the people in her world. Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't. The Divine works in ways that surpass our limited understanding but the odd idea of it all at least brings me back to an odd sense of hope, and purpose in the universe. I should know better then to resist change by now.
Jasper has helped to answer so many prayers from the first day he came to me. Beltane. April 30th at dusk. A deliberate gift from Hecate' the goddess energy of crossroads, transformation and change. A powerful and sometimes dark goddess, but one that wears the three faces of fate. Fate tells us that the only constant in life is change, and it is the only thing we can really count on. We can count on it but we cannot control or really even direct it. All we can do is get good at surfing the wave. Thank You Hecate'. I surrender.
No comments:
Post a Comment