The framed painting caught my attention. ... There it rested,
upright, on the concrete floor, in the store aisle, amongst other numerous
watercolour paintings of scenery, objects and animals. Wrapped in ornate
wood, the painting drew me into
its web of tenderness, longing, and warmth.
It told a story of love, caring and of another moment in time when I had
to make the heartfelt decision - a first for me - to end the life of an beloved old pet.
I felt the pull on my heartstrings. The painting was mine, now. It had to be. There in the water colour mix of
creams, beiges, browns, all seeming to run together, was the silhouette of the
very old dog with its familiar face, on his master’s four poster bed. This creature was special. Where he slept and the way he slept, seemed
to say,’ I belong to someone’.
The chenille bedspread, of a bygone era, on which he lay, helped
to cradle his soft, old, fragile body, seeming to protect it from discomfort and pain,
familiar companions of dogs, in their golden years. His almost
totally white face still showed signs of the colouring of his youth: yellow and
orange. He was so real. He could have been mine. ... The dog seemed weary from a long
life lived and now, sleeping, seemed to be in his final chapter. ... Curled upon his master’s bed, his weary bones,
his barely there whiskers, his soft, ‘nose worthy’ furry coat, begged to be hugged, kissed and held, one more time. The resemblance to our first ‘pup’, decades ago, made him mine. My heart melted, once again.
When our magnificent beast entered our lives, he was part of
a ‘troupe’, just passing through, one of a litter of nine puppies. He remained
with us for over 15 years. .. We were
renting a tiny cottage, at the time, an abode that could barely house two
adults and one dog, let alone 9 babies, temporarily. ... The puppies were an
unexpected addition to our family, and my teaching schedule. ... But we
persevered until all found homes at the tender, magical age of 8 weeks. We kept him. That was an imperative. We could not give up all puppies to adoption. We were fortunate to have on-site doggie day care,
called dad - (on a sabbatical from business) - until a move, the following year, changed
our daycare circumstances.
Our golden boy was impartial to people, in general, but favoured only those he knew, intimately. As time
passed, his demeanour was more akin to someone who liked to live alone. We loved him, nonetheless. ... Over time, other dogs of a similar colour and breed, entered our lives, all
with discernible personalities and special charms - but understood only by us.
... Each pup taught us the meaning of unrequited love, of love with no boundaries,
of love beyond the species of man. With each new face, I changed, becoming
more and more like them, wanting simply to play, eat, have treats, drink water
and laugh. There would always be two: a yellow male and a black female.
Our
first had been an abandoned pup, his mom, wandering in a park. She needed a home. We were
it. Her dilemma created our next generation, and, eventually, the most
incredible journey and bond with dogs ever envisioned. They kept me sane and approving of all things
messy, dirty, loud, sweet smelling loving and very clean. If they were happy, I was, too.
The painting became mine, a gift for a wedding anniversary. It is a daily, solemn reminder- a
book mark of my life- of the dance that began decades ago in finding the
original, then her son and everything that followed. Its prominence in the room where
I have danced with each and every one of our human and non-human ‘children,’ connects
me to our unique past. ... I did not expect this surprise, this golden
forever moment. Money is money but everything else is simply, winning
the lottery. My heart tells me so!