So, I knew the day that we just finished up would eventually come around. I knew it would be a sad day, and that I would find it hard to push the lump in my throat back down this morning.
A year ago, Jeph and I said goodbye to one of the best friends we ever had. Of course, he was so much more than a best friend to us. He was our Scrubby. To say he was a dog, in many ways, understates what he was, but in other ways, because dogs are, in my opinion, perfect souls, to say he was a dog almost does him justice.
I know I've talked about him before, but somehow, 365 days passing since we said goodbye hasn't made a difference in how much I wish he was still here. I think of the last few weeks, and I try to imagine what it would be like for Jeph to have his buddy. I can lend an ear and listen to how he is feeling since the destruction of so much of his hometown, but I know if Scrubby was here, somehow, things would just be better, and I know that at this time that has been so hard, the tap tap in the middle of the night asking to crawl under the covers would be more welcome than waking up with images of torn up houses and hurt people.
I think of the last year and a lot of the upheaval I have felt in my professional life, and the moments that I feel like I have to just cope and get along. Scrubby wouldn't care if my feelings about work and where I fit into it or don't are reasonable or not. I know that he would just pop up onto the couch beside me and let me cry it out if I needed to with nothing more than a comforting grunt in response.
When people ask how old he was when he left us, I always wonder why it matters. He could have been a hundred, and he still would have gone too soon for us. What amount of time is enough to spend with someone you love? When someone calculates that figure, please get back to me. Maybe then I will be able to accept that some of the brightest spots in our lives leave us way too soon.
Some people think that because we still have our two other dogs that somehow softened the blow of losing Scrubby--almost as if Blue and Puppy Mo are "spare dogs," like spare sets of keys. If anything, losing Scrubby has made it impossible to consider what more loss would feel like. Just a few short months ago, we faced the possibility that we would lose Mo in the same horrible way we lost Scrubbs.
Since we adopted Blue, I have known that we would never be without a dog again. I have known that our lives would never be complete if we tried to live without a pack in the house. But as I worried that, in spite of our best efforts, we might lose Puppy Mo this spring, I finally understood why people often say they will never have another dog after such a loss. The fear of losing her, and what I anticipated to be a horrible tearing away at our lives was too much to think about and something I didn't want to go through again.
Over the years when I've talked about how much I love my dogs, people have often said "Just wait til you have kids." As I worried over Mo and carried the things in my car to make a final paw print and cut a lock of hair to save, I decided I never wanted to have children. If the love you feel for human children is stronger than what you feel for dogs, then I can't even fathom what the pain of losing a child would be. Losing a dog is unbearable. Losing a child must be indefinable.
We thought we would look for another beagle this spring. After coming so close to losing Mo, it was almost as if Jeph and I silently agreed not to bring someone else into the family just yet. Without ever saying it, it seems that we both know the time we have with Blue and Mo is at a premium. It's precious, and we want every moment they have left with us to be as happy and comfortable as we can make them. Forcing them to adjust to a new pack member just doesn't seem fair, and we wouldn't be doing it for them.
I've wondered for years how I would know that I was ready, or close to ready, to have a child. I think knowing when loving someone else, and seeing to their comfort means more to you than your own comfort, you might be on the right track. I'm still not certain, but I do know that nobody we bring home will be Scrubby. Nobody will have those soft, velvety ears. Nobody will ever sing about arugula the way he did.
Just a little while before I woke up this morning, I had a dream about him. We were at Jeph's parents' house--only their house was somehow much more modern and posh. The bedroom I was unpacking my clothes in was a beautiful gold color scheme--warm like butterscotch. It was a soft, warm place with perfect lighting. The door to the room was ajar as I chatted with my mother-in-law. A gorgeous black, tan and white beagle trotted in as happy as you please, and leaped onto the bed. My mother-in-law informed him that dogs don't go on the bed. He looked at her doubtfully, and I defended his position.
He remained on the bed, right where he belonged.Where he will always belong.
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