There's something about an old ailing dog that takes me back to every sickness I have ever witnessed in people I love. I am not sure what it is, although the word helpless comes to mind. We invest so many things in our pets, and we are always so grateful when they do not bite back, reminding us of our flaws, our errors in judgement, all those things that we lack. No matter how or where we go wrong, our cats and our dogs and even our goldfish are still there beside us when the morning comes. I look at old Pooh Bear now and I wonder...how many more mornings?
I think, too, of a favourite poem: The Pardon, written by Richard Wilbur.
My dog lay dead five days without a grave
In the thick of the summer, hid in a clump of pine
And a jungle of grass and honeysuckle-vine.
I who had loved him while he kept alive
Went only close enough to where he was
To sniff the heavy honeysuckle-smell
Twined with another odor heavier still
And hear the flies’ intolerable buzz.
Well, I was ten and very much afraid.
In my kind world the dead were out of range
And I could not forgive the sad or strange
In beast or man. My father took the spade
And buried him. Last night I saw the grass
Slowly divide (it was the same scene
But now it glowed a fierce and mortal green)
And saw the dog emerging. I confess
I felt afraid again, but still he came
In the carnal sun, clothed in a hymn of flies,
And death was breeding in his lively eyes.
I started in to cry and call his name,
Asking forgiveness of his tongueless head.…
I dreamt the past was never past redeeming:
But whether this was false or honest dreaming
I beg death’s pardon now. And mourn the dead.
At my age, of course, death is not out of range. It has too often snuck in and taken the lives of people I loved best -- Don, Mom and Sandy -- which I say as a point of their goodness and the unforgivable loss. I am not sure that I loved them best while they kept alive, but I aimed to do my best for them and hope that intentions count.
That said, no one has done better than our dear old red-coloured dog. She loves patiently, whole-heartedly and unconditionally -- characteristics that some of us loathe in others, but that I find right and comforting. I cannot say how I will find my days without her by my side, she who has comforted me through so many losses and hard times. What will I do with my mornings? Who will there be to forgive me?
