a story from before, that bears lessons for today.
This story is ancient history. but it has always been one of my favorite peices. This is the story, written right after the occurrence of my last full day with the little dog who was my companion during 16 years of turbulent changes.
Watson was a miniature schnauzer. Seventeen pounds of dog, ninety six pounds of teutonic self posession and dignity. Watson didn’t walk, he pranced like a tiny Lipizzaner stallion. Despite his diminutive size, he took crap from no one, certainly not from me, and back then I was messy enough I had crap for everyone. But Watson always held me up, never asked questions, always loved seeing me walk in from work. That dog saved my life more than once when I couldn’t navigate my way through a world that seemed so out of step with my too soft heart.
This is Watson’s eulogy. My celebration of the gift that was his life. My thank you for his wisdom and sweetness. You never forget your dogs, and I’m certain they never forget us. Sometimes, in the corner of my mind’s eye, I catch a glimpse of his little lamb body and his serious gaze, and I know somewhere he’s thinking of me too.
I just returned from a long walk with Watson. I have been turning over in my mind the inevitable decision that we all eventually face, the difficult decision as to when Watson’s little furry body could no longer carry the weight of this place comfortably. He is going to be 16 this year, and that’s a long time for a life so richly lived.
It’s hard to set parameters for such a decision. You know how you might do this for yourself or a parent, but with these silent familiar presences, it’s hard because you realize they live in a different reality than us. Animals live in the Now, a skill we have been taught to forget by our world. There is no concept of dread for tomorrow or regret for yesterday… For Watson, yesterday is ash, tomorrow an unformed dream. Given that, if they hurt now, all there is, is hurt. When the hurt is over, it is wholly over, without recriminations or what ifs.
Today, is all Watson and I have left. Tomorrow, I will cradle Watson against my chest, with the people who furnished his life, and release him from my care, and me from his.
Today is his day and I let him lead me to the places he loves most. I put the world on indefinite hold and I walked out on my life to follow my companion one last time. I walked at a snail’s pace as he stopped at every vertical surface to check in with the state of the world. I let him set every step of his own volition and when his footing was precarious on the melting ice, I held his leash such that if he should fall, I could catch him quickly, gently.
He took me on the most beautiful journey in the pale sun of early spring to a florist’s window. He paused unusually long there, busy doing his thing. When I looked up I realized the window was full of magnolia branches, the buds just beginning to offer a hint of life.
When he was done we continued a little further down his favourite busy street. I have been guilty of impatience sometimes, when his leisurely gait was at odds with all the stuff I had that was yanking at my own leash… But today, the world could end around me, my pace was Watson’s pace.
Just a half block from the florist sat a man of no fixed address, sporting a full white nicotine stained beard in contrast to my dark one. I have made a point of putting coins in my pocket every time I leave home for about a year now. As I approached I handed the man what I had with me and allowed Watson to greet him. I watched with a smile as the man greeted Watson like a friend, feeling the warm little body beneath his curls. Then, I knelt, tears in my eyes as I shared Watson’s soft fur with this man and he told me his story.
The story of a life full of experience, that had led him to the side of these shops on my favourite street, and I listened. I listened past my sore knees and cool damp in the air. I listened as others dropped coins in the man’s hat and walked on, busy with the leashes that drag them to heel, even on such a beautiful spring afternoon. I listened like an inmate listens to the stories of the man in the cell next to him, to the stories of a life I’d not led and I realized how blinded I have allowed myself to be to the incredible beauty that surrounds us, just waiting for our attention.
Watson’s final lesson. Stop. Listen.
The world is a miracle being made for you.
