I don\u2019t know what it is about dogs and why we love them so fiercely, or\nwhy we can\u2019t go about our lives without them. \nI know that I can\u2019t seem to find my compass without a dog in my life. My\ndog companions enable me to map the territory of the heart, and when they\nleave, I am broken of heart until the next one comes along and trains me once again to remember to be kind, and\ncompassionate, and to love unconditionally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It seems that the older I get, the harder it is to let go when a dog passes. I grieve more deeply and can\u2019t seem to bounce back as quickly. It is the fragility of age. My rubber ball is cracked and dry and doesn\u2019t roll with the punches or the resilience of youth. Perhaps it is because death edges ever more closely once you skid over the hump of middle age, and it\u2019s hard to ignore the fact that we too will follow our beloved little friends into the dark unknown.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We measure our lives in the years of dogs. They come to us, foreshadowing\nour future and guiding us from one stage of our spiritual development to the\nnext. When a dog passes, I suspect that the intensity of our grief is not only for\nthe loss of our best little friend and his companionship, but the loss of\nanother stage in life. Each of our beloved dogs has ferried my husband and I\nthrough marriage and our life together. Some were more benevolent and human\nthan others, but all of them accomplished their mission in one way or another \u2013\na job well done.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Having been raised by at least two dogs at a time throughout my childhood,\nit\u2019s hard to imagine a life without them. I relied on their comfort and\nprotection when the adults seemed remarkably absent. I was sure that my dog,\nLassie, had saved my life more than once from the danger and anxiety my mother\nharbored and projected onto the world. When I think of the dogs of my youth, I\nsee the romping of children in the yard and the pitter-patter of little feet\naround the holidays. They were my brothers and sisters in a lonely little life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Throughout one\u2019s life there are dark days and dog days, and the darkest\nof days for me were those spans of time when I did not have a dog. Sure, it\nallowed me to be foot-loose and\nfancy-free during a frenzied resistance to settling down. I know I had cats come and go during those years, but\nI don\u2019t find them particularly centering or grounding. You can have a cat on\nyour bed one day and gone the next and they just don\u2019t seem to be able to\nnavigate the territory of the heart in the same way as dogs. I don\u2019t know where the Ancient Egyptian cat stars\nmight be in the night sky, but I sure as heck know where to find the Dog Star.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It is possible that I never got to bond with cats because I wasn\u2019t\nallowed to have a cat from the age of five until I left home at eighteen. We used\nto have a cat named \u201cBootsy\u201d when I was very young, and I still remember his\nbig white socks and double paws, and the rumble of his baritone purr. But cats\ndisappeared from my life abruptly, when I caught Cat Scratch Fever<\/em>. Yep \u2013 I\u2019m probably one of the few individuals\nyou\u2019ll ever meet who almost died from a disease made famous by a\nrock band. <\/p>\n\n\n\n At any rate, my strange encounter with the disease happened long before\nTed Nugent. It was 1960, and I was five-years old. I was sick for so many weeks\nI never made it to the local kindergarten, which my parents couldn\u2019t afford\nanyway. I was left to fend for myself on the screened porch in the heat of\nAugust and the dog days of September. It was me and Captain Kangaroo,\nsurrounded by my favorite books on the couch through an eternal fever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As it turns out, I became the poster child for curing cat scratch fever\nwith penicillin. After two surgeries and weeks of a raging fever, and the flax\nseed poultices, which my mother had to use to draw the infection out of my\nlanced lymph nodes, the doctors decided to try an antibiotic. It most likely\nsaved my life, but I still bear the scars. <\/p>\n\n\n\n My parents never allowed another cat in the house. I don\u2019t care to wonder\nwhat happened to Bootsy and those kittens in the barn that scratched me while\nmy brother milked his cow, Buttercup. They were all \u201cdisappeared\u201d by the time I\ngot home from the hospital, probably in some football stadium in Argentina. To\nthis day, the scent of flax seed and burlap bags tied with string conjure up\nnightmares.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My first dog after leaving home was an English setter. He was a devil\ndog, and probably had no choice but to act out my bad choices in life. My first\nhusband, whom I\u2019d married at eighteen, named him Damion. When we left him for a\nweekend in the care of a neighbor, he literally tore our little cottage apart.\nHe pulled down the Christmas tree, chewed up all the bedding and pillows, and\nran through the house with a roll of toilet paper on which he defiantly pooped.\nHe was too much dog for young newlyweds to handle, and we gave him back to our\nfriend who had given him to us. He was one of those lopsided dogs with two\ndifferent colored eyes, a gangly gate, and random spotting from every genetic\ntrait in his setter lineage. He could have turned out to be a good dog, but\nalready, my feet were getting itchy to move on and it wasn\u2019t the right time for\neither of us (meaning the dog and I) to be together. I hope he found his people\nand was able to accomplish his mission in life. We were his failed experiment,\nand that marriage couldn\u2019t possibly have lasted. After all, that practice\nhusband was a cat person in his heart, and we parted ways after four years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It wasn\u2019t until I met my present husband after several years of nomadic\nlife, that I was able to find my dog\nstar again. I suppose it was best not to have had a companion during my hobo days, but I do wish I\u2019d had a dog\nwith me when I hiked the Appalachian\nTrail by myself. When Michael and I settled into our tiny little home on\nthirteen acres of land, the first thing I did was visit the local dog pound. I couldn\u2019t help myself.\nI came home with three dogs! A\nbeautiful sable collie for us, named Tansy, and two other dogs which I gave\naway. I gifted my mother with the white mutt, which my father named Rebel, after a precarious first encounter. Rebel\nhad decided it was his job to protect my mother and he wouldn\u2019t let my dad in\nthe house that first night. That dog later became my father\u2019s constant\ncompanion, riding shotgun in the truck. I think I gave the shepherd mix to a\nfriend or neighbor, but I can\u2019t recall\nwho. It was in the 80\u2019s – a long time ago, and the lens of my memory is blurred\naround the edge of reality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Unfortunately, Tansy, the collie, didn\u2019t last long. We\u2019d inherited\nheartworm along with the dog, and he died of a heart attack while under treatment.\nHe was a joyful lion-maned collie who captured our hearts and reminded me of my\nown Lassie from childhood. My husband, who came from one of those odd families\nwho never had a pet bigger than a goldfish, was smitten and finally understood\nthe love of a canine friend. We soon embarked on collecting a series of collies\nwho ferried us through two decades of nesting and trying to build a family. Our\ncollies were a just-right combination for two busy people, working to build a\nlife while putting ourselves through college.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They were devoted, but gave us space, always\nwatching over us as though we were their very own tiny flock of sheep. Never\nunderfoot, just there in case they were needed. They were a noble breed and\nbrought us many years of joy with their individual personalities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The collie years were a domestic phase, all about building a home and a\ncommunity. Guinness, the noblest of our tri-colored collection was the most\nbeloved of that tribe. He touched our hearts more deeply than any of the\nothers. He was our high priest, watching over us from his throne on the berm,\nwhere he surrounded himself with plastic he\u2019d collected in the neighborhood. We\nwere devastated when he passed, and our refrigerator became his shrine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It wasn\u2019t just the dog – it was the passing of happiness, and an\nunfortunate turn of events – a hysterectomy and the loss of hope for a family\nof our own. Yet there were new things on the horizon \u2013 a dawning of creativity\nand a different way of being in the world without the burden of trying to fit my\nrestless spirit into motherhood. Sadie, our smooth-coated collie held ground\nfor several years, and crankily presided over the changes in our relationships\nwith friends and with each other. She put up with the expansion and renovation\nof our house and a parade of musicians as I tried to formulate the right band\nto give wings to the songs I birthed like children. Sadie had a bit of an\nattitude: \u201cI am what I am \u2013 take it or leave it.\u201d She tried very hard to teach\nme to just be who I am and not to care what people think. But I failed her tutelage.\nAfter all, I care a bit too deeply. <\/p>\n\n\n\n As Sadie got old, the wind began to shift. One day, I went to the local\npet store to buy crickets for a frog in my classroom. That\u2019s when I met a mini\nschnauzer who captured my heart the\nminute I picked him up. That little dog was a game changer. I named him after\nDjango Reinhardt, the Gypsy Jazz musician and the inspiration for my own songwriting.\nDjango became my muse in more ways than one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Even though we still had Sadie in our lives, she was becoming more of a shadow.\nContent to sleep most of the time and slither into dark corners, she was not so\nattached to us anymore. Her spirit had already left. But when we brought Django\nhome, she had a reprieve. She diligently showed him the ropes, taught him how\nto handle us, and proudly brought him around the neighborhood. He became her\npuppy, and he brought out the puppy in her, although she was more often than\nnot a bit snippy and impatient with him. The house was filled with the tapping\nof toes on floorboards, and Django seemed quite happy to have someone besides\nus whom he could boss around. When Sadie left us, he was quite depressed and\nwent through weeks of mourning. He developed separation anxiety and focused all\nhis attention on me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One thing about mini schnauzers is they have a strong personality from\nthe get-go. Although all our animals have had their own voices that matched\ntheir personality, including special songs we made up about them, Django\nliterally talked to me. The minute I met him, I heard his voice clear as day. Our\nhouse was filled with on-going commentary about other humans and life, with\nDjango coining the phrase, \u201cI\u2019m just saying\u201d, long before I\u2019d ever heard people\nsay it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because Django was becoming all too human, we decided to stunt his growth\nin that department so he could stay with us a bit longer. It was selfish, I know,\nbut we loved him so very much and didn\u2019t want him getting the idea that his\nwork was done. That\u2019s when we rescued Carlo, thinking that Django needed to be\nreminded that he was a dog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carlo was found on a\nrescue site by our friend, Amy, who later became known as the \u201cFairy (or furry)\nDog Mother\u201d. He was fostered to a couple in Cambridge. Because he came from a\nfamily with two Boston Terriers who were also rescued, they mixed up his papers\nand labeled him as a Boston Terrier. But he was oh-so-clearly a mini\nschnauzer. Before he died, we were\ntoying with the idea of making a YouTube video with Carlo sitting ever so\nseriously across from Henry Lewis Gates on the show Finding Your Roots<\/em>. Dr. Gates would have the big black book spread\nout on the table, which contains all the genealogy research and DNA of his\nguest. He would impishly smile, in that way of his, and say to Carlo: \u201cTurn the\nnext page.\u201d And Carlo\u2019s jaw would drop to the floor. He would exclaim in his\nSpanglish accent, \u201cWhat?!! I\u2019m a Schnauzer?!! I thought I was a Boston Terrier!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That little boy had quite the personality. When we\nwalked into the foster apartment in Cambridge to pick him up, he bolted across\nthe room and literally jumped into Michael\u2019s arms. I swear to God, I heard him\nsay out loud in the deep baritone voice of Antonio Banderas, \u201cDad! You\u2019re my\nnew dad!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Django and Carlo became fast friends, after Django quickly established\nthat he was the boss, and that I belonged to him. Carlo was so malleable and\nmellow. When Django was getting all nerved up, he would shrug his shoulder and\nwalk away. More often than not, I heard him say, \u201cAh \u2013 whatever.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We should have named them Felix and Oscar, after the \u201cOdd Couple\u201d. Their\ntemperaments were so different, yet they blended so well. Django \u2013 all white\nand stiff, was the salt to Carlo\u2019s salsa personality. They became known as \u201cThe\nboys\u201d among friends and in the neighborhood, and they made the perfect little\nbrace of dogs during our many hikes and adventures. Most memorably, was our\n\u201cIddy-Biddy-I-Did-a-rod\u201d where the boys went cross-country skiing with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was a lovely time, we had with them. They helped to smooth over some\nrough edges in our marriage and brought humor and joy into our home, and I miss\nthem so much. I miss their voices and their endearing love. The couches and the\nbed were cold and uninviting without the soft circle of dogs cuddled up against\nus. When Django died, I thought we\u2019d get another dog right away. But we didn\u2019t.\nCarlo, after his mourning period, relished being the only dog and having our\nfull attention. We put it off, thinking we\u2019d have at least five years to think\nabout a companion for Carlo. Selfishly, I wish we had found that perfect little\nschnauzer friend, because the house wouldn\u2019t have been so lonely when he died.\nOn the other hand, Carlo had the best two years of his life. A life well-lived,\nand well-loved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now we have two new mini schnauzers in our lives, Leo and Carla. The\nbearers of change, they escorted me into a new era. I think this next measure\nof dogs will be about reclamation. Already, with their presence I am reclaiming\nmy soul from the hard work of teaching. They have helped me to nurture my creative\nvoice. I hope these little people masquerading as dogs will grow and evolve\nwith me as we each become who we are meant to be in this world. I know that\nDjango and Carlo cannot be replaced, but I do have faith that our new furry\ncompanions will fulfill their mission and do a good job as we all strive to\nbecome more human.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I don\u2019t know what it is about dogs and why we love them so fiercely, or why we can\u2019t go about our lives without them. I know that I can\u2019t seem to find my compass without a dog in my life. My dog companions enable me to map the territory of the heart, and when … <\/p>\n