Telluride!

Our Telluride came to us in October of 2010.  She quickly got a nickname, Tellie, and has become the big girl in our family.

The previous July another of our pups, New Years, lost her battle with IBD and Diabetes. As with any beloved companion who passes away, it was devastating on so many levels.  However, she had been sick for a long time and her poor little physical body couldn't hold on any longer.  She had a great life with us and was truly our angel.

I was working during motorcycle riding season at Mile-High Harley Davidson in Aurora, CO which is right down the street from the City of Aurora Animal Shelter.  It was there where I found Tellie.  When I first saw her she was a little sprout and didn't seem to be overly concerned about being in a cage.  I had gone to the shelter during a lunch break with no desire or inclination to get another dog.  It had only been a few months since New Years passed and we were still processing all that happened with her over the past couple of years.  I was only thinking I would go to visit the homeless, shelter dogs.

Tellie was in the second enclosure I came upon.  She emerged through the opening which connected both sides of her cage and looked up at me.  She looked at me with an open, friendly face.  She seemed to be saying "Oh, there you are!  I've been waiting for you to get here." I opend the gate gate and steppend into the cage and sat down on the cement floor.  She climbed into my lap and put her paws onto my shoulders.  She looked me directly in the eyes almost as if she was checking me out to make sure I was the one the one she had been expecting.  She licked my nose and settled into my lap.  She was very calm and confident that she had found her new Papa.

Since I only had a half hour break, I soon had to leave and ge back to work.  I lifted her off my lap and put her back on the floor.  I turned around as I walked away to see if she had any reaction to me leaving.  Her tail wagged contedly waving back and forth as she said "Goodbye.  See you later."

The next day I brought Alexa with me to meet this puppy.  The little white dog looked to be young since she was pretty small and her fur wasn't grown in all the way.  She recognized me and matter of factly indicated she had expecting me to come back to say hello.  I again went into the cage and sat with her as Alexa visited with some other pooches. After a couple of minutes I scooped her up and took her to meet Alexa.  It turned out Alexa had also found a little Yorkie friend and was bringing her to meet me.  We brought both of them outside to the fenced in "Meet and Greet area."  In the few mintues we had, we wanted to try and get a feel for their personalities and try to see which one was interested in possibly coming home with us.  Tellie followed me, then did an about face to visit with Alexa.  The Yorkie puppy was excitedly bouncing around running back and forth between the two of us.  She wasn't sure what was happening but was excited that someone was playing with her and had given her a chance to stretch her legs and run a little bit. Unbeknownst to us, it was Telluride who stole our hearts.

That night, I had a dream about her.  She was lying down looking up at me. The expectant look she was giving me was full of of a "Alright, I like you, you like me, when are you coming back to take me home with you?" I woke up in the morning with the very real feeling that she was going to be ours.

I had the day off from the dealer and was going to spend the late morning taking a motorcycle ride.  It was my intention to head off to the foothills to the west of Denver and take the twists and turns leading up, up, up and back down the other side and ride into the mountains.  I had only gotten less than two miles from home when I heard, clearer than a clear summer day, that Tellie was indeed our dog and that we had to go and get her.  We had to go get her NOW.

I turned around and headed back home to tell Alexa what had happened.  She didn't look at me like I was crazy as I told her about my dream and the strong feeling I had that we were supposed to adopt this little puppy with the deep brown eyes and waggy tail.  She simply gathered her purse and said "let's go."

Long story short, Tellie was ours that day. When we went to pick her up, we took Jersey with us.  We hadn't been allowed to bring Jersey in to meet her and we weren't allowed to bring Tellie out to see how she would get along with Jersey.  The first time the two met was when we walked Tellie out to the car.  Jersey knew what was happening and didn't have a problem with the new addition to our family.  We were relieved. Jersey was a one family dog and had gotten used to the idea that New Year's wasn't around anymore.  She had gotten very close to both Alexa and I.  We weren't sure how she would react.  Thankfully, Jersey took it all in stride.

Tellie made herself at home very quickly.  She developed a very close bond with Jersey and loved having another dog to show her the ropes, how things worked in our house.

Today, Tellie is the big sister.  Skylar came to us a floppy, silly, puppy all pin teeth and floppy legs. Tellie was a little unsure at first but eventually accepted Skylar as someone to play with, someone to pal around with, someone to be a dog with.

She had been a little confused when Jersey passed away.  She knew something was a different and that her big sister wasn't around anymore.  It was obvious she was sad and missed her big companion and friend.

Now, Tellie has become the teacher.  Not only is she teaching Skylar how to be a dog, she taught me to listen to some of the voices in my head and heart and follow my instincts.  She knew before I did that she was to find a home with us.  She told me and for the first time, I listened.

 

In the dark

Jersey's candle is out and didn't light up last night.

"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it SHINE."

BELIEVE in a cure...

Raison d'etre

I was thinking yesterday about why I continue to post here and came to the conclusion that it's about more than me and Jersey and the sadness I feel at her loss. Sure, it's a venue for me to exorcise my feelings but it's bigger than that. Not only is it my way "to get over it" it's for whomever might benefit by what my experience has been.  It's for whomever has lost their own "Jersey" and doesn't know what's going on; whose head might be spinning around because they've lost their beloved companion; it's for those who have been devestated by their loss and might not realize that what they're feeling is normal.  It's for those who might feel alone in their grief.

If one person is touched by what I share and they can say to themselves "I get it.  This upside down, topsy-turvy vortex I have been thrown into is what happens." then I feel it's been successful.  I started out wanting to share her beauty and spirit but it has evolved into more than that. Though it is about Jersey, it's also about me and you and anyone and everyone who has been touched by grief. I know my experience is universal and is one thing we all have in commonl.  If what I am going through can be of benefit to just one person it means Jersey has been a teacher for them as well.

My wish is that people understand they're not alone and that someone else understands.

Jersey was my gift and I share it with you.  I hope it's a gift that fits.

Waning light

There is only the dimmest pinpoint of light from the candle now.  I expect that anynight, I will go into Jersey's room and the little electric candle flame will be dark.  It's barely there now.  The light from the streetlamp and moonlight shining through the window make it almost impossible to see if is is still burning.  It doesn't shine in the darkness anymore.  Actually, what's left is more like the glowing wick of a candle after it has been blown out.  If it was an actual flame, there wouldn't be enough light to do anything except ponder the darkness.

The practice of talking to Jersey while contemplating her light has had a strange effect on me.  I kind of look forward to it going out but will miss its comforting flame.

I look forward to it going out because I have a feeling that symbolically, it marks the end of something.  My heart tells me that when I can't see it anymore and when it is out, this intial period of mourning will be complete.  There is a part of me that wants to hang onto it.  I don't want to feel further and further away from her.  I don't want to let her go.

The truth is, I realize I have.

Though I'm still sad and think of her everyday, I think I've arrived at a place where I've come to accept what has happened.  I don't feel like I'm hanging onto her.  She has been released.  I feel like I've arrived at a place where my life is not being measured by how long she's been gone.

I'm now watching Skylar grow into a dog instead of being a puppy; I'm experiencing the joy Tellie brings us everyday. Alexa and I are making each other laugh and it's OK.

I think the carousel has stopped and the calliope has stopped "rooting-tooting." Maybe I'll go find the fortune teller and she can tell me what's next.  Nah, I think I'll get a hot dog instead.

Rear view mirror

Annapolis is about a half hour south of where Alexa and I live in Maryland.  Aside from being the state capital, it's a nice place to go for a quick "get out of town" visit.  There are different places we go on a regular basis: Quiet Waters Dog Park, Sandy Point State park where the beach I have written about is, Whole Foods, a couple of restaurants, Old Town.

The only reason I mention all this is because we went to Annapolis yesterday afternoon.  Actually, we went down twice.  Once to run a couple of errands, the second time was to take the dogs to Quiet Waters.

On the way back from our first Annapolis visit of the day, Alexa mentioned how she had been looking at baby pictures of Jersey the night before and how much she missed her. This was enough to get me remembering all the trips back and forth to the beach in Annapolis we made when Jersey was with us.  Specifically, it got me to thinking about Jersey's eyes.  I could look into the rearview mirror and would be able to see her brown, brown eyes either gleaming in anticipation of how much free running she could do or the look of contentment that could be found there as we drove home. A look of satisfaction which would come with being exhausted from exploring every inch of the shoreline, running unbound through the forest and discovering critters she could chase.  Her eyes would hold a certain look while she seemed to think her journey down the jetty as she poked her head into the nooks made by the uneven boulders grouped together, stretching out into the bay as she tried to find a crab to play with or some cast off fish bait to eat.

I thought of all this while Alexa was relating how much she wanted to throw her arms around Jersey's big, old, hairy neck. I thought of this and remembered our loss and that Jersey's eyes were no longer looking back at me through the rear view mirror.

I began to weep as I drove.

I think of Jersey every day.  She is never far from my thoughts.  I have come to a place when I recall a certain adventure we had or how she would sit at the top of the back stairs surveying her world.  I will think about her when Skylar sits in the same spot, in the same way. I've come to a place that through time, these memories don't have the sting they used to. The memory doesn't hurt the way it did.  I can think back and know how fortunate and blessed I was to have her in my life.

However, there are times when out of the blue, like yesterday, I look for her and she's not looking back. It's those unexpected times when I am blindsided by the feeling of her absence. It's those instances when I continue to mourn her loss and I am struck by saddness and I begin to weep.

Our lives are moving on and I am adjusting to life without her.  It doesn't mean the grief isn't there though. it is. What it does mean is that there is a sense of balance that comes with time.  There's a feeling that there is a place for those feelings, that it somehow all fits together. It also means that I will feel sad and that I will be moved to tears. Equalibrium hasn't been reached yet but at least it seems life is settling down.

My life has been moving on. I'm coming to terms with the fact that Jersey's big brown eyes aren't looking back at me in the rearview mirror.

Speechless

This past Saturday I was at a loss for words at the memorial service I wrote about last week.  It seems I am best at expressing myself when I write about Jersey and the effect her loss has had on me.  I've shared many stories about her. I've told what it is like for me as I go through this mourning process.  I've shared funny ones, sad ones, serious ones.  I feel like I have been open about what it's been like. When it came time to speak about her in front of people though, I hemmed and hawed, stuttered and repeated myself and don't think I was too successful sharing a couple of anecdotes about her.

I really wanted to eulogize her. It turned out that at the little ceremony each person shared a couple of stories about how their pups made them smile or gave them joy. It was an entirely appropriate way to honor the memory of the beloved companions we all miss so much.

I had spent a lot of time trying to think of just the right words to express what Jersey meant to me and the impact she had on my life and I couldn't come up with anything.  I use my best words here and was left struggling for what to say.

When people started sharing memories, I scrambled to think of something to say and decided to offer a couple of anecdotes about Jersey's escape artist skills.  It was entirely off the cuff and improvised and I feel I didn't do her justice.  I suppose it doesn't really matter because I'm sure no one really cared what words I used.  The important thing was I was there.

Last night though, I realized what I might have said instead:

"A day or two before Jersey passed, I was sitting with her in the man cave, talking softly to her.  I was telling her I loved her, that she was a great friend; that she was my best friend.  I lay down next to her as she shifted about trying to find a comfortable position. Her head was next to mine as I began to sing softly in her ear.
                                                 "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
                                                  This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
                                                  This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.
                                                   Let it shine, let shine, let it shine."

I kept singing it over and over until she calmed down and fell asleep.  I'm thankful she found comfort as I sang and gently stroked her side. I took comfort in the peace that settled upon us.  I was next to my Jersey and she fell asleep in my arms.

Her light continues to shine and it will stay shining in my heart forever."

Then I would have lit her candle.

The dark night seemed to soften in the glowing, spreading light as more and more candles were lit. I shared what I shared that night and it was fine for the occasion.

However if I could do it over, this would have been my eulogy.  This would have been what I wanted the people there to hear about my Jersey.  I would have liked to share about her light and that it continues to shine, shine, shine.