Monday, June 22, 2009


Long long ago, in the time of purple bellbottoms and paisley headbands, my first self-taken name was Ridgewalker. Not for the mountains that lived only in my dreams, but chosen for the edges between. Between child and woman, between night and day, between joy and sorrow. Those between places are where artists walk, along with all the others that are more at home there. I have other names now, both chosen and given, but each is a facet. This ridge I'm on now with my dear companion is not one I ever thought to walk. Sharp as obsidian and light and dark together.

This is not easy. I am filled not only with grief and sorrow, but with doubts and confusion. "When is it time?
", is the question. I pet her beautiful head, and try to look into her endless brown eyes, and she turns away. Is she asking for more time, that I wait longer, or is she already looking beyond, towards the path that lies before her, the one I cannot travel yet? How many shards must my heart become? I don't want her to be scared and helpless, unable to stand or walk. She is not there yet. She sometimes lies with her head up, her soft ears seeming alert. but mostly more often just stretched out on the concrete. She looks at me, with her head flat on the ground, with no tail-wag, no push back against my hand.

On the bus coming home from work today, I saw the first 4th of July firework stand, and I thought it would be good to let her go sooner. She did not grow up with a whole night of explosions, not till we moved here to the city when she was already an old dog. She hates the fireworks, scared by the constant noise, despite my calm presence.

Tonight I did some more digging on her gravesite. Right now it looks oddly like an earthen ofuro, as I have left a small step in the packed earth to ease actually getting down to be able to dig further. I cannot imagine digging six feet down, and fortunately that is not necessary in this case.

I am hoping for need more help digging, in the next few days.

I am thinking that Friday we will make that hard trip over the river to Dove Lewis Hospital; I do not know how I can bear to let her go, but I cannot bear for her to end in indignity and confusion.

1 comment:

  1. My heart goes out to you. What a beautiful dog and story!
    I'm believe the spirit goes on and hopefully you will meet again.
    Take care.