Tragedy at home

On a personal note from yesterday, there was a tragic accident with my little 10-year-old Yorkie named Pooh, that I have had since a puppy.

While I was removing some ivy from a tree along my driveway, through the corner of my eye I saw a pickup truck on the road come to a screeching halt in front of our property. Unsure what happened, I walked toward the vehicle where the driver was out on the street and upset because he had struck an animal. As I got closer and looked, it was Pooh.

It all happened so fast all I could do was casually ask, how is he, to which he sadly responded very directly, “he’s dead.”

For some reason, at that moment it did not hit me yet. It was a bit of disbelief. It felt so unreal. Strangely calm I picked up Pooh and got into my car. Patiently driving toward the vet I knew it was over. Pooh had felt lifeless when I picked him up and at that moment I broke down into tears.

It was clear to me that the driver was not at fault. The dog had seen the mailbox post right across the small rural street and had rushed across to mark it. Over the many years this is something he did quite frequently around the yard but never ventured down our long driveway and out into the road without me. Pooh may not have seen me working next to the tree and might have thought I was at the mailbox.

Walking into the vet I waited for the receptionist to finish her phone call and politely told her that my dog has been hit by a car but I think it is too late. Two vets immediately ran out to check on the animal and brought him in before breaking the final news me. I already knew it but at that moment I could not control my overwhelming feelings of grief. Just a few minutes ago we were walking around the yard. How could this be happening?

Despite his middle age he was as energetic as a puppy. One minute he would be calmly resting on his dog bed as I typed and the next minute he would be jumping around with excitement as we would take a break from blogging and walk around the yard outside. For the nearly two years that I have been posting to this blog he has been by my side quietly watching me type. In a way, he sort of has been involved in just about every post on here.

Admittedly, I am not someone who agrees with people that treat their pets just like children; people that dress them up in clothes and insist that they live and travel just like humans. After all, they are pets, companions, and they never have an issue with that role. So the irony of it all is how much this is tearing me up inside. It all has happened so quickly and now I am left with the half full dog bowl that I had just filled and the empty dog bed when I woke up.

I try to force myself to sleep for a few minutes just so I can wake up and find out that this is all just a dream but every time my eyes open I immediately must grasp with the reality of it all. What makes it so hard is few people can sympathize with someone who loses a pet. I know that I can’t, particularly after losing my father to Parkinson’s three years ago. The concept of morning the loss of a pet just seems so vain but now I am overcome with crippling grief. Not only is it hard for me to believe that he’s gone, I am quite sure if Pooh could see us now, he wouldn’t believe it either.

I can look at most negative things and see something positive. Like, at least “this” or “that” didn’t happen. But I can’t seem to do it with this, other than the fact that this was a dog and not a child. At my age I don’t need stuff like this to make me stronger. I just want Pooh back with me.

How can the light that burned so brightly suddenly burn so pale?
And how our lives can change in a blink of an eye.

Let us look back at a 30-year-old film. The animated movie Watership Down (1978) is based on Richard Adams’ famous book. The film is pretty dark and violent for a cartoon, particularly one that also attracted a younger audience when it was released. While the movie has many political overtones the basic plot has to do with a group of rabbits who leave their warren because one of them, named Fiver, foresees a terrible end to the meadow they live in. Most of the other rabbits in the warren ridicule Fiver. But the group sneaks out and flees the warren at night in hopes of finding a safer meadow in a high place. Along the journey, one by one, several of the rabbits loose their lives. The rabbits in the movie worship the sun god “Lord Frith” and bravely accept death as part of life.

The Black Rabbit serves Lord Frith but he does no more than his appointed task.

The rabbits believe that they must follow the will of the Black Rabbit of Inlè, who represents death. When he calls you, you have to go. The group’s leader Hazel, tries to make a bargain with Lord Frith offering his life for the safety of his companions to which Lord Frith responds:

There is not a day or night that a doe offers her life for her kittens, or some honest captain of Owsla, his life for his chief. [Sometimes it is taken. Sometimes it is not.] But there is no bargain. [For here] what is, is what must be.

My heart has joined the Thousand,
for my friend stopped running today.