for the love of dog

2 November 2022

Dear Friends,

It's been almost a month since I returned from Monhegan, coming home to family and friends, relishing the familiar with fresh eyes, affirming the many reasons "this is why I live here too." 

Yet reentry is not always what one expects, it offers its challenges, and on October 19, I found myself in a place I did not wish to be. Two weeks ago, I said goodbye to Abby.

It's not as if I didn't know this day would come. My sweet girl was twelve, which for a Newfoundland is older than ancient, and I've appreciated every moment past her tenth year as a gift. 

But over the past twelve months, Abby has been slowing down, the onset of arthritis making her every movement more stiff and tender. And then, a few weeks ago, the sudden and rapid onset of a neurological imbalance made it almost impossible for her to walk or stand. Despite the enduring sharpness of her mind, Abby's life was contained to the boundaries of an 8 x 10 jute rug. 

At first, I focused on the positives: the way she still placed her paw into my hand or how she was never not smiling, how she continued to eat with gusto, that she hadn't had an accident in the house, and the list goes on. But in my heart, I knew her "wins" were mainly what I wanted to see and incomparable to how the quality of her life had become diminished. 

She disguised her suffering, but I could tell Abby was no longer capable of being the dog she once was, and while she still looked at me in love and longing, the longer I returned her gaze, I began to see something else. 

For days the two of us sat on the floor. Waiting. Being in the pause, holding the beat of each moment, not as something to fear, but to experience. And then to know when it was time. To schedule the appointment. To realize Abby's world had become too small and that only I could grant her the grace and the dignity to let go.

She may or may not have been a purebred Newfoundland (I have my doubts about her doggy DNA test), but it never really mattered. And while we may have rescued Abby for Olive, who desperately needed her own dog, she soon became my shadow, following me silently throughout the house, from room to room, up and down the stairs. Wherever I turned, she would always be there.

Abby came into our lives on the eve of my one-year sober anniversary, and shepherded me through the bleakest days of my divorce and beyond. She held the shape of my story, and as my constant and closest companion, she chose me again and again.

Sometimes I wonder if she didn't want to be alone or more that she didn't want me to be alone. 

What I know is Abby never left my side until she felt I had moved through the darkness and found my way because she always slept beside me until John moved in, and then she slept outside our bedroom door, protecting us both.

I've heard it said our dogs leave us when they think they have done their job.

While it may not have been my time to say goodbye, it was her time, and I let her go for the love of Abby.

I don't believe there is any love as pure as the one that develops between our pets. They always know when we need to be comforted, and as a friend reminded me because they can't talk, they never say the wrong thing.

Of course, the flip side is when we welcome a pet into our home, we open ourselves to eventual, devastating heartbreak. We know, and yet we still take it on.

So too, being a human. Each day we accept the invitation; we embark upon the journey to fully participate in our lives. It doesn't make the experience any less fraught, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

In Abby's last hours, we celebrated her life with a cheese party: Brie, fresh mozzarella, aged cheddar, all her favorites.

Then we sent her on her way for her next adventure, knowing there were some extraordinary people to walk with waiting on the other side.

I've been struggling to write this for weeks, not wanting to "post" in service to social media but because I wanted to write a fitting tribute to my trusted friend. Just as I didn't know how to begin, I don't really know how to end other than appreciate the ways life goes on: how I can sit in the stillness with Olive and listen to her snores, trusting my capacity and how to hold the heavy weight of now.

Thank you for reading, and to all who knew what she meant to me, thank you for your kindness for the love of dogs.

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have you ever wished for a taste of retreat closer to home?

join me THIS SUNDAY

November 6 in person at tru yoga, rochester, ny

three spaces remain • register online or in studio

writing your practice: from breath to pen

November 6

3:00 - 4:45 pm

together we will weave ancient yoga teachings into a contemporary tapestry to map and make meaning of our bodies and embodied experiences, narrative threads tugged and teased through the practices of asana, pranayama, guided meditation, and writing to create a more spacious container of our whole self:

breath to pen, mat to page

this workshop is for anyone ready to explore how yoga & writing complement the other to become their own embodied practice.

come dressed in comfortable clothes, bring your mat, a journal & pen

questions? send me an email scholarships available

Sarah has an amazing talent of weaving so many things together and listening. It was a truly inspiring few days together on retreat...I am going to try to write a bit every day ... Jeanne, Philadelphia

current comfort and contemplations

reading:

Body Wise: The Radical Power of Personal Narrative, Melissa Febos

In tribute to Halloween (and more): A Brief History of Witches

What does it take to abandon what does not work and take the risks of uncertainty? Sky Woman Falling, Robin Kimmerer

Sharon Olds is Still Shockingly Intimate especially this poem

Social Security Will Now Allow People to Select Their Gender in Records

Remembering Peter Schjeldahl (1942-2022) and the many things he taught me to see “I have no patience for bitterness of any kind,” he told Interview magazine in 2014. Even to be involved with art is to inhabit such a level of privilege in life.”

relishing:

Six Stages of Having Too Many Books (thanks Jen!)

Helicopter Parents Are Last Year’s Model

watching:

balancing The Handmaid’s Tale with Never Have I Ever

listening:

NPR’s series Days and Weeks tells personal stories of lives affected by abortion restrictions in the post-Roe era.

Taylor Swift Midnights (3am Edition) I mean it’s no reputation but still…

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upcoming

Monhegan Retreats

June 18 - June 22, 2023

September 28 - October 2, 2023

details soon • 2022 highlights here • want to know more? let’s talk

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