Friction

"You don't heal from the loss of a loved one because time passes, you heal because of what you do with that time"-Carol Crandell

I received a message last week that a spry, young female dog was in need of some short-term tender loving care in a home environment. When things like that are thrown to me, I say "yes" when it is at all humanly possible because I find comfort and healing in helping others. Gavin was over the moon to have another dog in the house. Lil' Big Head was racing from one room to the next with his OMIGOD face; "this is where we drink water and OMIGOD, you are here. This is where I want to wrestle and I have to pounce on you now I'M JUST SO EXCITED and OMIGOD, chase me now. WEEEEEEE!!!"

When Spry Girl Dog was in her crate and Gavin was not; Lil' Big Head was like a lovesick teenager, sitting by the wire door with pleading eyes then rushing to my side with a more desperate look as if he was saying "PLEASE let her out to play" with one silent, meaningful glance. I needed two seconds to go to the bathroom here and there and did not want the two knuckleheads to eat my couch. Spry Girl Dog's stay ended a day later and when she had to leave; Gavin laid in her crate by the door and looked up at me with the saddest look I have ever seen on his face. He laid his head down on her fleece blanket and sighed a hopeless and crushed breath; I was certain Lil' Big Head was broken-hearted that his dog girlfriend could not stay forever.

But later that night, Gavin walked up to me on the couch and just stared. A soft, uncertain look towards me but not directly at me; his sweet face was lost. I invited Lil' Big Head to join me so we could snuggle and he did not leap into the air towards the couch like he normally does. Instead, Gavin creeped up next to me and lightly, warily nudged his head onto my shoulder. And, I realized that he was not in the crate because he was sad to see Spry Girl Dog leave but, he thought he was going to leave. I have no idea how many dogs Gavin has seen come and go in his life and previous homes but I do know he is a very sensitive little guy. He made that trait clear the first day we tried to go for a long walk, poor Lil' Big Head was absolutely certain the airplanes were coming to kill him as he threw himself to the ground every time one flew over us. I hugged him tightly that night and told him that I promised he was not going anywhere. And, though I'm sure all he heard was "blah, blah, blah, blah", something in my tone must have given comfort because he oozed towards me then flopped onto his back, I heard "pfffffttt" and held my nose as I chuckled. His farts are deadly.

I would never wish a bad experience on anyone. But, I do believe when you comfort a dog and show him that you will be there; with your own special language, understood between just the two of you that it strengthens your love for each other in a way that makes the fun, silly times even more marvelous. I used to say that I was not sure if I would have appreciated Finn as much as I did if he were not such a

juvenile delinquent nor if he had come into my life at a different time. When I rescued Finn, I was absolutely devastated about a miserable breakup with the man I thought I was going to marry and found the most amazing healing of my heart in taking care of my Lug and nurturing his puppy soul.

Years ago, Finn and I were at Hamlin Park, playing fetch, is there any other game? When his brisk pursuit of his favorite neon yellow toy caused him to ungracefully hit the grass in a mish-mash of paws, tail and ball; I heard him yelp. When my Lug tried to stand up, he kept tumbling to one side and I could see he had torn the ligament in his knee, again. I reached for my phone to call my neighbor to come get us, recalling that I left it at home. So, I carried Finn seven city blocks; all 80 pounds of him at the time and not one person driving down Belmont Avenue stopped to offer us help. A dog of dignity, Finn never fussed when I picked him up and clumsily walked a couple steps then, as gently as possible, put him down again for a short break. The trip felt like it took forever, but as miserable as it was for me and I am certain not enjoyable for my Lug; he gave me gentle kisses on my cheek every time we stopped for me to catch my breath.

Now I know to appreciate how carefree I am when I watch Gavin play and crash towards his ball or another dog then bounce right back up and run again. I never want to take that for granted. And, while I would never wish for Finn's absence, or the hole in my heart left by his passing; I have tremendous peace knowing that when lightning and thunder charge through the Chicago sky, Finn is not anxious or suffering and Gavin is snoring and farting the storm away.

The above photo of Finn was taken by Rhonda Holcomb, photographer, animal lover and good human extraordinaire.