A Message from the Universe

My husband and I took an evening stroll after dinner tonight. It was the first time we walked together since Lacey left us. It was a warm evening, and as we reached the end of the driveway I had a little lump in my throat. But he took my hand and we headed down the block. There were families out and garages open. In a community like ours, there's lots of activity just before sunset. As we reached the corner where we usually turned with Lacey, my husband asked me, "Where do you want to go?" We had always walked the same route with Lacey, but today I told him wherever he wanted to take me. So we kept walking, without turning the corner and we continued down the path to the clubhouse. As we rounded the back, we could hear kids at the playground. The sound of children playing and laughing is one of the best sounds there is. We turned around the back of the pool, and I smiled. There was a man with a dog. A caramely- cinnamonish- colored dog with a white bib. His ears were perky and his tail was wagging. "I'm sorry, he likes to lick," the man said apologetically. I pet the dog who relished in the attention and then he jumped up at my husband. "And he likes to jump too," the owner said sheepishly. We kept walking, and I looked up at my husband who was holding my hand. With the glimmer of almost tears in our eyes, we smiled at each other. The dog looked a lot like our Lacey.

My friends Helen and Annmarie told me this morning they didn't believe in coincidence. I told them I was pretty sure I did. And that's ok because as friends we accept our differences. But then Helen followed up by saying, "What I mean is that there are always messages from the universe- it isn't random." Tonight I know just what she means. I just know Lacey is living large, pain free, and frolicking as she wishes. This dog, one we've never seen, on a route we've never walked, was a message from the universe.

And we came full circle around the clubhouse, the pool, the basketball and tennis courts, and made our way back home. The cottony soft clouds were bunching together forming a shadowy shelf just above the setting sun. The crescent moon was high in the sky, and the neighborhood was settling. We stepped up to the door and I felt sad, but at peace, a week after saying goodbye.

If She Could Talk

If my dog could talk she'd tell me
exactly when it was time to let go.
She'd probably say it's alright,
don't look at me with sorrow
don't give me puppy dog eyes.
Once I gave you those eyes
and you chose me instead of the others,
took me home and loved me.
Our life together has been warm
with cuddles and pats, and log walks.
With silly sounds and goofy faces
we've been lucky, all of us.
And though you'll never be prepared
never be ready to say goodbye,
the time is coming near.
I'm tired and I don't have much left.
The long walks are getting shorter
and so is my breath.
It's getting harder to get up and down
the stairs, the bed, even the floor.
You've given me a good home
and we loved each other more
than I ever expected.
If she could talk,my dog would say
it's okay, she'd say goodbye.

How Do You Know?

I wrote several months back about my dog who had been very sick. We thought she had cancer, and it turned out she had a diseased kidney. Still does. But after some treatment she bounced back a bit. We went from a couple of weeks sobbing daily over what we thought was our dying dog, to feeling blessed that she bounced back most of the way and was seeming like herself again. She was not young for a dog, and the kidney was still bad, but she was energetic again and eating regularly. All the happiness however, we knew was on borrowed time. We knew every additional day we had left with Lacey was bonus time. She was never going to completely recover long-term, especially without removing her bad kidney. Based on those horrible weeks and Lacey's reactions to the procedures she had already experienced, combined with a low likelihood she would be healthy even afterward, we elected not to have her kidney removed. We decided as a family, as long as she was comfortable and happy, we would spoil her and enjoy our time with her until she seemed to suffer discomfort or take a turn for the worse. At that time we would bring her in and let go of her peacefully. The thought of her being in pain, or dying traumatically in our home were scenarios we couldn't bear.

We've had a great couple of months. But recently Lacey's condition has been questionable. She's slowing down considerably, not eating all that regularly, and can no longer make it the full distance on our daily walks. She can jump up on the bed but is hesitant to jump down. She still wags her tail and comes to the kitchen to beg, and those are both good signs. It's becoming more and more difficult to know what's right. Another trip to the vet is likely to yield a list of things the doctor wants to do, surgeries, procedures, etc. We know from last time it would just stress her out. So we're left with our gut instinct. We are left with trying to make the best of the time left, and knowing when it's time to say goodbye. When you love your pet this much, how do you know?