[an excerpt from
“Til Death Do Us Part?”, a Kindle book, also available as a pdf from www.SchoolofSelf-Reliance.com.]
I was
startled awake by the loud crackling of thunder at 2:30 a.m. I could see the bright flashes of light
outside. The storm was overhead. I went outside into the darkness, and the
sky would light up with the bright flash, and the thunder shook the house. It
began to rain. Mid-August and it’s
raining. To me, Lulu was saying
goodbye, leaving us as she moved along in the spirit world.
Lulu died
at 5 p.m. yesterday, August 14. I saw
her about five minutes after she died in Dolores’ arms. Lulu, a purebred pitbull, was Dolores’ dog
who lived with us for all of her ten years. Lulu was a gift from Dolores’
daughter, Barbara, and Dolores LOVED Lulu!
The day she arrived, the little
feisty dog took charge of the other two pitbulls, even though she was tiny
enough to fit in one hand. Her tail had
this zig-zag coloration like a lightning bolt, a good indication of her
character.
Dogs are just like children. Their
characters are silly, playful, jealous.
No two are alike. Lulu loved
attention and loved to be with us. When
she came into our home, Cassius and Ramona were with us, and all three would
sleep together, and stare out the window in unison, all lined up in the same
posture. It was quite a sight.
Something unusual began to occur
with Lulu in the early part of 2005.
Though Lulu had a large bucket of water outside which was readily
available for her to drink, she would wait until Dolores let her inside and
then she would drink and drink and drink from the bowl of water kept inside for
Baby. Dolores thought that Lulu was
trying to tell her something. If Lulu
was so thirsty, why not drink her available outside water? There was nothing wrong with that
water. If Lulu was trying to
communicate something to Dolores, what could that be?
At this time, when we were all out
for a run with the dogs, Dolores noticed that Lulu seemed tired, unable to run
as swiftly as usual. Something was
wrong.
At the animal doctor, Dolores
learned that Lulu had both diabetes and cancer. Thus began a new era with Lulu, which lasted about five months,
where she was given special foods and some pills designed to strengthen
her.
She grew thinner and thinner, yet
she loved being with us and going places.
She seemed aware that something was wrong with her body, but she
attempted to continue as before.
Gradually, in the last month, she
stumbled when she walked. We had to
help her in and out of the house to use her bathroom. In spite of her increasing inability, Lulu seemed happy, not in
pain, and always determined to go out side to use the bathroom. What a girl!
We took her to the farmer’s market
and she loved being there with Dolores, seeing familiar friends, getting to
walk in the open park.
One day at the Glendale Farmers
Market, someone saw how thin she was and assumed we mistreated her. They called
an animal inspector out who interrogated me with great suspicion. When it was
clear that we were giving Lulu exceptional care, the animal inspector tactfully
suggested that it was not Lulu we were concerned about, but our own desire to
be with her. The animal inspector suggested we put Lulu to sleep. In fact, she intimated that she had the
authority to remove Lulu from us and “relieve her pain” if she felt we were not
handling thing properly. Ugh! Both
Dolores and I were shocked and angered that this is the quality of person (and
thinking) that our tax dollars support.
We had no desire to kill off Lulu.
We could feel that Lulu wanted
to be with us, that she felt great joy and comfort. So we took her home in a hurry.
Lulu’s walk became more difficult,
and she lost most of her sight in the last two weeks. We could feel the cancerous growths on her stomach and
underside. We could feel that Lulu was
often sad, but she would sleep all day now, though she would eat and drink and
go to the bathroom once or twice. She
wagged her tail when I came in.
When I last saw her alive Saturday
night, I hugged her and touched her, and told her as I always told her, that
she needed to get some meat on her body.
I always encouraged her to get better, hoping, dreaming for a miracle
that she would.
On Sunday, I called Dolores on my
cell phone when I was out shopping.
Dolores had me talk to Lulu over the phone, and say hello to her. Dolores said that Lulu made an effort to wag
her tail when she heard my voice.
When I came back, I could see the
sadness in Dolores’ face. Yes, you can go see Lulu, she told me. Lulu was
covered in a towell. Dolores explained
how Lulu really perked up in the morning when Dolores sat with Lulu and began mentally
reviewing pictures of their good times together. Dolores said that she did it again after we talked on the phone,
and Lulu died in her lap.
Suddenly, the life was gone from
her. It was a dramatic change,” said Dolores
We sat there on Sunday with Lulu,
still talking to her, feeling the emptiness of a good friend now gone. It was
like the end of the world. We wished
Lulu would be with us longer, another day, another week. We petted her, hugged
her, the poor little girl who was now skin and bones.
There is an emptiness now where
there once was Lulu. It cannot be
drowned away with drink or drugs or distractions. It can only be acknowledged.
The solution to the sadness and the
emptiness was to honor her life, and then to
love the living even more, and to smile.
No comments:
Post a Comment