I know this entry is not about romantic love. But it is about love nonetheless. I have been wanting to write about my dog, Howard. I had to let him go a few months ago. It still feels like yesterday. I still cry several times a week over him. He was one of the loves of my life.
My idea of love was nothing more than love being that of a burning house. No matter what the circumstance, the moment you love, the moment you are doomed for heartbreak. I can love someone a lifetime, and at the end of the day, I will part with that person if not by life's circumstance, death's.
And so it was with Howard. He was my first rescue dog. He lived 9 years in a puppy mill before he came to me. He ate, slept, defecated, and everything else in a small cage. He was only taken out of the cage to breed. When he came to me, he was scared and skinny, and the sweetest thing I had ever seen. I loved him before I even met him, in spite of not being the playful rambunctious Boston Terrier I was expecting.
And as I start to examine the dog he was and how much I loved him, I ponder the reason pets have such a special place in our hearts. They are these beings who teach us to love in such a pure way, in a way we seem to be unable to love others. Howard didn't try to hide who he was or cover up his love for me. He was never prideful in his love, but fiercely strived to protect me. And in turn, I loved him unashamedly. Everyone who knew me, knew how much I loved Howard. Making him smile was one of the most amazing feelings I have ever had. It was the truest smile I have ever seen from an animal. I look back on my life and can't say I have ever managed to love a person the way I loved him - so outlandishly, giving him more kisses and hugs and 'I love you's' and care than I have given anyone.
I made the call and scheduled the appointment a week in advance. That week was hell. Looking back on it now, I got to make the moments with him during that week count. But the truth is, it could never have been enough. I would still be wishing for more time. It seemed as if I could literally feel the seconds, minutes, hours, days slip away. I made sure to hold him every night and soak in his gentle presence. The night before he died, I bathed him and clipped his nails. I cleaned his ears and gave him a special meal. I rushed home from work the next day and held him until the vets came. He was asleep before they even gave him the injection. He left quickly and was just as gentle leaving this world as he was during his life. They say that people act in life is magnified in death. Howard's gentleness was magnified in that moment.
Afterwards, I sat a few moments alone with him. I couldn't say much. I couldn't let the flood of tears and sadness wash over me with 3 veternarians in the front yard and 2 additional dogs going crazy in the backyard. My mother never raised me to ignore guests. I got a couple of minutes, however. I went to smell his paw one last time. I don't know why, but I loved to smell his paw. His scent was always comforting to me, and it was gone. Forever. It smelled like the most nothing one can imagine. He really was gone. The house was indeed burning and wouldn't stop until it was burned to the ground.
I know I did the right thing. It makes my body physically ache when I think about the pain he went through. I had to keep holding on in hopes that he would come back to me, but he was so tired of suffering. It was hard because I knew that I was signing up for sorrow to enter my heart and not leave for quite some time. It's such a helpless feeling knowing that there is nothing you can do but let go. I just have to keep telling myself that I did the right thing. I keep waiting for that fact to become stronger than my sorrow.
In the meantime, I have been challenged to love others the way I loved him: outlandishly, openly, honestly, responsibly. When I do that, I know it keeps his memory alive and makes his life count. His love changed my life. It might sound silly to say about a dog. But do you love others the way you love your own pet?
Love is indeed a burning house. You'll never walk away from it with anything other than heartbreak. It might be tomorrow. It might be when you're 80. Either way, no one walks away un-singed.
I think about the moment I woke up the morning Howard was scheduled to go. He had slept in his same spot, and we had the same morning routine as always. Before getting out of bed that morning, I took a moment to snuggle with him one last time. He always smelled a certain way after sleeping. I breathed in that smell one last time. It comforts me to know that I had that precious moment. I managed to block out the reality that he was leaving me and that I was running late for work to take in that moment, to appreciate the light shining through the window, his chainsaw snoring, and his peaceful smile. I remember that moment so vividly. Everything. I'm telling you, Howard was worth every burn from that burning house. You see an old red Boston Terrier named Howard Lee taught me to see that light coming through the windows, see the beauty of the flames, and to stop and smell Howard in the burning house.
My idea of love was nothing more than love being that of a burning house. No matter what the circumstance, the moment you love, the moment you are doomed for heartbreak. I can love someone a lifetime, and at the end of the day, I will part with that person if not by life's circumstance, death's.
And so it was with Howard. He was my first rescue dog. He lived 9 years in a puppy mill before he came to me. He ate, slept, defecated, and everything else in a small cage. He was only taken out of the cage to breed. When he came to me, he was scared and skinny, and the sweetest thing I had ever seen. I loved him before I even met him, in spite of not being the playful rambunctious Boston Terrier I was expecting.
And as I start to examine the dog he was and how much I loved him, I ponder the reason pets have such a special place in our hearts. They are these beings who teach us to love in such a pure way, in a way we seem to be unable to love others. Howard didn't try to hide who he was or cover up his love for me. He was never prideful in his love, but fiercely strived to protect me. And in turn, I loved him unashamedly. Everyone who knew me, knew how much I loved Howard. Making him smile was one of the most amazing feelings I have ever had. It was the truest smile I have ever seen from an animal. I look back on my life and can't say I have ever managed to love a person the way I loved him - so outlandishly, giving him more kisses and hugs and 'I love you's' and care than I have given anyone.
I made the call and scheduled the appointment a week in advance. That week was hell. Looking back on it now, I got to make the moments with him during that week count. But the truth is, it could never have been enough. I would still be wishing for more time. It seemed as if I could literally feel the seconds, minutes, hours, days slip away. I made sure to hold him every night and soak in his gentle presence. The night before he died, I bathed him and clipped his nails. I cleaned his ears and gave him a special meal. I rushed home from work the next day and held him until the vets came. He was asleep before they even gave him the injection. He left quickly and was just as gentle leaving this world as he was during his life. They say that people act in life is magnified in death. Howard's gentleness was magnified in that moment.
Afterwards, I sat a few moments alone with him. I couldn't say much. I couldn't let the flood of tears and sadness wash over me with 3 veternarians in the front yard and 2 additional dogs going crazy in the backyard. My mother never raised me to ignore guests. I got a couple of minutes, however. I went to smell his paw one last time. I don't know why, but I loved to smell his paw. His scent was always comforting to me, and it was gone. Forever. It smelled like the most nothing one can imagine. He really was gone. The house was indeed burning and wouldn't stop until it was burned to the ground.
I know I did the right thing. It makes my body physically ache when I think about the pain he went through. I had to keep holding on in hopes that he would come back to me, but he was so tired of suffering. It was hard because I knew that I was signing up for sorrow to enter my heart and not leave for quite some time. It's such a helpless feeling knowing that there is nothing you can do but let go. I just have to keep telling myself that I did the right thing. I keep waiting for that fact to become stronger than my sorrow.
In the meantime, I have been challenged to love others the way I loved him: outlandishly, openly, honestly, responsibly. When I do that, I know it keeps his memory alive and makes his life count. His love changed my life. It might sound silly to say about a dog. But do you love others the way you love your own pet?
Love is indeed a burning house. You'll never walk away from it with anything other than heartbreak. It might be tomorrow. It might be when you're 80. Either way, no one walks away un-singed.
I think about the moment I woke up the morning Howard was scheduled to go. He had slept in his same spot, and we had the same morning routine as always. Before getting out of bed that morning, I took a moment to snuggle with him one last time. He always smelled a certain way after sleeping. I breathed in that smell one last time. It comforts me to know that I had that precious moment. I managed to block out the reality that he was leaving me and that I was running late for work to take in that moment, to appreciate the light shining through the window, his chainsaw snoring, and his peaceful smile. I remember that moment so vividly. Everything. I'm telling you, Howard was worth every burn from that burning house. You see an old red Boston Terrier named Howard Lee taught me to see that light coming through the windows, see the beauty of the flames, and to stop and smell Howard in the burning house.
*I adopted Howard from MidAmerica Boston Terrier Rescue. They are a dog rescue organization committed to rehabilitating and rescuing Boston Terriers and Boston Terrier Mixes. Please visit their website at www.adoptaboston.com or check out their facebook page to find out more.
Rachel, this was beautiful and made me cry. I lost my love 2 1/2 years ago, and have so many memories with smell too. I have always fallen in love with smells and temperatures associated with than more than any other sense I feel. In any case, great entry and I am sorry for your loss
ReplyDelete