Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Teddy 12/31/1999-3/28/2011

When my mother died I would sit at my writing desk to write thank you notes and cry. I had a ritual; every Thursday I left work early and got lunch at The Cheese Shop. I would set lunch up on a pretty plate and pour myself a glass of red wine. On sunny days I would watch the light dance through the bare branches of the birch trees. On cloudy, rain driven days I would watch the dark brown leaves swirling desperately around. My mother died in November and I did this every Thursday through the winter.
Now, I am here again eleven years later, heart heavy as a stone. A big black crow caws loudly on the lawn. I want him to go away. Today I will clean up all of our beloved Tedsey's marrow bones leaving nothing for the crow to come for. Today I will put his bowl away and his rawhide flips and his pills. This afternoon we will say goodbye, for now, and let him start his glorious life in heaven. Are we ready? No, but we know he is. He has been the light of our lives for 11 years and 3 months. I often wondered if he was the reincarnation of all the people I have loved and lost. He was more human than any dog I have ever known.
Teddy taught us about love and connection. He was so hooked into people and so, so happy. He wagged his tail to the end, literally. When we brought him to the vet for his last visit he wagged his tail for Dr. Fischer; sweet and brave to the end. There will never be another dog like our dear Tedsey. We have all been blessed; so many lessons learned from a loving, brave and happy dog. If we could all be so present, happy and loving what a world it would be.

1 comment:

  1. Dear Robin,
    I've just come home from Mark August with a pretty pink paper bag holding my two newest possession; "Namequoit Point" and "October Dunes." Your cards are beautiful!

    Inside the cellophane (which until this moment has protected the cards from my greasy Squire fingers) I found your business cards with this blog address. So...I thought I would peruse your "thoughts."

    I laughed when in another blog you wrote about "resistance." I am reading your blog because it is far more pleasant than paying the bills, cleaning the kitchen, vacuuming the house--all the things I am currently resisting!

    But, I am commenting on this post because I've just come from dinner with friends where I was speaking to them of this very subject. Just moments after negotiating that hard lump of sorrow in my throat, I find it taking over my ability to swallow again. You see, I was telling my friends that our yellow lab, Ellie, is very near the end of her life.

    She, too, has been the beacon of unconditional love in my children's and my life for 15 years (She just had a birthday last month.) Thankfully, last week the vet said those two words I had hoped for, "Not yet." But when that day comes, and it will, I suppose I will look to you for guidance and solace...
    Patti Ricotta