On Pets and Loss and Choices
Jean Sexton muses:
Over the years many of you have read posts about my various pets. There was K'Ehleyr, my wrinkle-headed boxer. Along came Ralph Dog Sexton who stole my heart and saved me from a person who probably meant me harm. Inside the house lived Sapphire, a blue Burmese cat who had won her championship in Iowa, retired, and who then came to live with me. Each of them brought me joy and companionship. Pets ease stress and dogs offer unconditional love. Cats allow themselves to be served and reward people by purring. My life was enriched.
One of the reasons I have lived where I do in spite of the high crime rate is that it is very difficult to find places to rent which allow two big dogs and one tiny cat. I fully believe that one reason my boxer lived so long (15 years) is that she had a back yard to patrol and it was over half an acre. She made sure people out on the road went from one side to the other of her visual territory. She never did anything at a walk, except when she prancingly walked on her leash. She was so proud of her leash manners that she didn't pull on it at all. But in December, 2011 she pulled her last patrol. She was quite old and had gone grey with only her back coat retaining the redness of her puppy days. I mourned, but realized she'd lived a good, long life.
Ralph Dog Sexton was a fully grown dog when he showed up in my yard. He'd been badly abused at some point and was always afraid of a raised hand or a carried tool. The only time he'd face either of those down was when he thought he needed to stand between me and danger. I started working with him because he would need to learn to come inside if he were going to live with me in Texas. He started out scared of "inside" but came in anyway because I asked him to. He learned to go inside a crate for the same reason. He'd learned that collars wouldn't kill him and we were starting on leashes so that we could go on walks in Amarillo. However, in September, 2012 he lay down so he could watch me come home and fell asleep -- a sleep from which he didn't wake. That hit me very hard because there was absolutely no warning, no time to prepare. But I still had Sapphire who snuggled up to me as if she knew something was wrong and she could purr it away.
Sapphire was a delicate little cat (only five pounds at her heaviest) and was a terrible flirt. She adored men, all men, and would rub her whole body on them and talk to them and beg them to stroke her. I couldn't wait for her to meet the Steves and watch her wrap them around her dainty little paw. I'd found the perfect place to live in Amarillo: an apartment that would take her and me. She'd have windows to watch the world go by and peace and quiet in her domain. When I came back from the trip to Amarillo, she sulked as she always did. Soon I realized that Something Was Not Right, though, and she went off to the vet. She fought her way back from death's door to greet me on Monday and Tuesday as she always did -- head rubs and purring. The doctor proclaimed her to be "a little warrior" and confessed that he didn't think she'd be there on Monday when he came in. However, things went downhill quickly from Tuesday and on Friday I lost my little grey cat. She was 14 and had known love all of her life.
Loss is hard. There's the emptiness where you expect to see something. There's the quiet when you expect to hear a whuffle at the door. There's the pain when out of habit you turn down the pet aisle at the grocery store because you are bound to be out of something, only to realize there isn't anything you need there anymore. Yet to not experience the loss would mean never having a pet, never to love someone or something, never to care enough to have that pain.
I choose love and life and caring. I refuse to be so afraid of loss that I don't have anyone in my life. I will have a pet again once I settle in to the apartment and my new life. I will live my life out there in Amarillo. I will be surrounded by friends and stay in touch with my family. And someday I will either feel the whuffle of a dog or hear the demands of a cat who wants to be fed now, Now, NOW. I will do this, even if it means living through loss yet again. I am strong enough to endure all that life may toss at me.
Over the years many of you have read posts about my various pets. There was K'Ehleyr, my wrinkle-headed boxer. Along came Ralph Dog Sexton who stole my heart and saved me from a person who probably meant me harm. Inside the house lived Sapphire, a blue Burmese cat who had won her championship in Iowa, retired, and who then came to live with me. Each of them brought me joy and companionship. Pets ease stress and dogs offer unconditional love. Cats allow themselves to be served and reward people by purring. My life was enriched.
One of the reasons I have lived where I do in spite of the high crime rate is that it is very difficult to find places to rent which allow two big dogs and one tiny cat. I fully believe that one reason my boxer lived so long (15 years) is that she had a back yard to patrol and it was over half an acre. She made sure people out on the road went from one side to the other of her visual territory. She never did anything at a walk, except when she prancingly walked on her leash. She was so proud of her leash manners that she didn't pull on it at all. But in December, 2011 she pulled her last patrol. She was quite old and had gone grey with only her back coat retaining the redness of her puppy days. I mourned, but realized she'd lived a good, long life.
Ralph Dog Sexton was a fully grown dog when he showed up in my yard. He'd been badly abused at some point and was always afraid of a raised hand or a carried tool. The only time he'd face either of those down was when he thought he needed to stand between me and danger. I started working with him because he would need to learn to come inside if he were going to live with me in Texas. He started out scared of "inside" but came in anyway because I asked him to. He learned to go inside a crate for the same reason. He'd learned that collars wouldn't kill him and we were starting on leashes so that we could go on walks in Amarillo. However, in September, 2012 he lay down so he could watch me come home and fell asleep -- a sleep from which he didn't wake. That hit me very hard because there was absolutely no warning, no time to prepare. But I still had Sapphire who snuggled up to me as if she knew something was wrong and she could purr it away.
Sapphire was a delicate little cat (only five pounds at her heaviest) and was a terrible flirt. She adored men, all men, and would rub her whole body on them and talk to them and beg them to stroke her. I couldn't wait for her to meet the Steves and watch her wrap them around her dainty little paw. I'd found the perfect place to live in Amarillo: an apartment that would take her and me. She'd have windows to watch the world go by and peace and quiet in her domain. When I came back from the trip to Amarillo, she sulked as she always did. Soon I realized that Something Was Not Right, though, and she went off to the vet. She fought her way back from death's door to greet me on Monday and Tuesday as she always did -- head rubs and purring. The doctor proclaimed her to be "a little warrior" and confessed that he didn't think she'd be there on Monday when he came in. However, things went downhill quickly from Tuesday and on Friday I lost my little grey cat. She was 14 and had known love all of her life.
Loss is hard. There's the emptiness where you expect to see something. There's the quiet when you expect to hear a whuffle at the door. There's the pain when out of habit you turn down the pet aisle at the grocery store because you are bound to be out of something, only to realize there isn't anything you need there anymore. Yet to not experience the loss would mean never having a pet, never to love someone or something, never to care enough to have that pain.
I choose love and life and caring. I refuse to be so afraid of loss that I don't have anyone in my life. I will have a pet again once I settle in to the apartment and my new life. I will live my life out there in Amarillo. I will be surrounded by friends and stay in touch with my family. And someday I will either feel the whuffle of a dog or hear the demands of a cat who wants to be fed now, Now, NOW. I will do this, even if it means living through loss yet again. I am strong enough to endure all that life may toss at me.
posted by Federation Commander at 6:04 PM
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