Today is December 9, 2019. It wasn’t until I was at an intersection on a gorgeous stretch of a Kansas county road on my way to pick up my fifth foster dog this year that I realized it has been exactly a month since I turned 40 and on the same day put down my beloved Coco.
Coco – a dog I had adopted nearly two years ago when she was 10 – had been the third loss of my sweet old dogs I’d experienced in six months. She had diabetes when I adopted her after being featured on Susie’s Senior Dogs, and the poor girl lost her sight in the nearly two years we had together. In the early hours of November 9, she had a stroke in the middle of the night and when I woke up on my 40th birthday, I had to make the hardest choice those of us who adore our pets has to make. Her devastating decline happened in a matter of a few hours and it broke me a little.
It doesn’t take much of an imagination to understand that fostering old dogs comes with an unwritten contract that you sign with an already kind of broken heart.
But my heart has always been a little broken, so in a way I’ve been preparing for this my whole life and it makes sense for me.
At Alison’s Brand School this March during the Alt Summit, I was the first person she called on to share in response to “What is something you do that makes you feel awesome?” My “thing” was caring for my elderly pack and it “made me feel awesome” because it finally gave my bleeding heart a purpose. I am most myself when I can care for these old, sick or sad, sweet voiceless beings with intuition and compassion. Coco required insulin shots, Chicken requires pureed food and burping like a baby after she eats, Sal requires a kind of hypervigilance with a keen eye for the murder he has in his heart especially for anyone riding a bicycle, and puppy-mill-rescue-Quincy just requires a shit ton of patience.
And so today, a month into my 40th year and a month after losing Coco, I drove into the countryside to pick up a frightened boxer I’d named Clover before I met her sweet soul. It took awhile for her to tentatively dare to even take a step outside her kennel. We had a 40 minute drive home and less than two minutes in, I was surprised when I received a gentle nose nudge over my right shoulder that led to a couple small, scared pup kisses on the side of my face. When we got home and I parked in the garage, put one of my now-passed-OG-dogs’ collars on sweet Clover and attached a leash, she wasn’t ready to brave the outdoors quite yet. So we sat and shivered together for likely two different reasons with a bag of treats for some time until she was ready.
Sometimes this requirement to slow down and take life on their timeline is exactly what I need too.
Clover – my sweet, sweet foster baby Clover – was set to be put to sleep on Friday. And while I know so well what a merciful ending that is for a dog who is suffering, Clover doesn’t belong there now. And my heart just shatters at the thought of the dogs who do not escape the ‘euth list.’ As for my girl Clover, she is going to hang out in my spare bedroom with a warm bed and a full food bowl and a giant basket of toys that no dog in my house has played with in well over a year until she’s settled in and has seen the vet.
Tonight, she pulled about a dozen toys out of the basket and they are scattered all over the floor of her room. And she wagged her tail a little bit. And she ate like she wasn’t sure she’d be offered another meal. We’ll see what happens tomorrow. I’ll introduce you to her in a more personal way soon.