It's taken me a few days to clear my thoughts.
She's gone now - They call it euthanasia - not letting the living thing suffer ( she suffered terribly during the last few days). No matter what the hell they call it, it's the murder of a loved one.
Perhaps the ability to legally kill a living, breathing organism -no matter what level of love -if any, we feel - elevates our fragile egos, or infuses some grandiose illusion, or delusion.
I accept the fact that her so-called quality-of-life had deteriorated to unabating pain and discomfort.
She was my friend, my companion in these, my later years. She understood and trusted me. I understood and trusted her. She depended on me. She knew that I depended upon her.
We went everywhere together, shopping, visiting, hiking and walking. She got upset with me if I left her home. We shared our meals and she had fun doing it. When I left her alone, she wouldn't lay down near me (after her walk - of course) for almost 2 hours after I returned home, even if I was eating. But she always forgave me and returned to wherever I was sitting to lay at me feet.
I learned as much about character, and forgiveness, loyalty and love, determination and sheer courage, from my shepherd as I have ever learned from another human - with the single exception of my mother.
Admittedly, the mutual trust and trusting did not exist from day one. Without question, she had the feral capability, not to mention strength, to attack anything or anyone at any time, and even to revert to that stage if given opportunity, at least at the start of our 'merger.' That facility exists in virtually any pet, especially dog, or cat.
But as the relationship grew, she learned what she could and couldn't get away with.
The mutual respect and trust evolved from the consistency and repetition week after week and month after month. It wasn't automatic. It was replacing natural canine instincts with the education that to please others and to survive, she had to do, or not do, certain things. It was using her natural pack instincts to serve and co-exist with homo sapiens as the leader.
Sound familiar.
Perhaps, some day, we humans will really learn from our beloved pets that grudges, and anger, and revenge and retaliation and unprovoked aggression most often accomplish the exact opposite of what was intended.
Yes, it's time to move on. Life must go on.
We must again learn from our canine companions. We can't live in the past.
We must live for today -just as our 4-legged friends do - while we try to plan for tomorrow.
But God help the ones who would put aside the wonderful years and memories shared with a dear friend and companion without pausing, reflecting, remembering, appreciating, just because it's time move on to their next challenge.
God help those who dismiss the demise with "it's just a dog."
Those people, in my mind, have no soul. They are callously incapable of feelings of profound joy, of deep-rooted love and devotion: the same exact emotions needed for human bonding. Yes - we sure can learn from our dear pets.
We all must move on; and so shall I. But I will also appreciate and learn from what was.
An absolutely wonderful e-book: "How to ROAR: Pet Loss Grief Recovery!" written by Robin Jean Brown, will greatly assist anyone dealing with the death of a beloved pet. I very strongly recommend it.
A little later I hope to offer some thoughts on maximizing the joys and love of your life with your pet.
Meanwhile, browse the pet links on the right. Perhaps they will assist you now.
