pet connection

I was lucky to spend this Mother’s Day in California with my best friend and her family. Heidi and I met in the seventh grade. Her family had this hilarious dachshund named Nops.

He wasn’t always the most affable of dogs, leading to the infamous declaration “it’s not a party without a bite.”  I never had any trouble with him, though.

Heidi joked that her mother would “lovingly scoop up” the dog’s poop. We laughed then because we didn’t understand it, but we surely do now. At the time, my family was in-between dogs because my mother was a quadriplegic with multiple sclerosis, although we had a cockatiel. Heidi is the only friend I have who knew my mother. I liked being at Heidi’s house because her mother lived at home whereas mine was in a nursing home. They were so good to me, and they had a dog.

Four decades ago, I desperately wanted another dog because I was devastated by the loss of the German shepherd who was part of the family before I was born. She died of old age when I was in the third grade. After she died I wanted a dog so badly that I wished I would go blind so I could have a guide dog. Since I went to the ophthalmologist every 6 months of my childhood, following eye surgery at 6, I guess it’s not all that surprising that I came up with that corker. What helped sate that sick wish was that I could be with Heidi’s dog.

Four decades later, Heidi has a senior vizsla named Tesla who is the canine love of her life. She loved her other vizsla Bovie too, but Tesla is her heart dog. Tesla, or Tuna as she is sometimes called, has had a litany of medical issues, many of which revolve around mast cell tumors although one resulted from eating her surgical bandage. Heidi is able to spot incipient mast cell tumors while going over Tesla with a figurative fine tooth comb. Over the years Heidi’s keen eye has staved off some pretty nasty stuff. The Tuna is now 12, lumpy and bumpy and grey even on the top of her head, and more beloved than ever. Tesla still likes to swim in the pool and chase a floating ball, but mostly she likes to back up towards your hand, like a canine Mack truck, for a good butt scritch. She wiggles with joy and is one happy, contented girl except when the gardeners arrive with noisy equipment. Tuna spent part of the Mother’s Day in the pool with the miniature dachshunds who came with Heidi’s brother, whose wife used to be my roommate.

Heidi has grieved with me for each and every canine and feline loss I’ve had. She cries on the phone with me and means every word she can manage to get out through our waterfall of shared tears and wails. Our sympathy for each other’s losses is keen, and not one word is token. Nothing is lost in the 2,000 miles between us. Neither of us has any children, but if we did it wouldn’t alter the depth of grief we feel for our four-legged losses.

These days it’s her mother’s health we think about, and that’s why spending Mother’s Day with her family was so perfect. Her mother is smaller than I remember, but her essence is as strong as ever. This wonderful woman took Al Capone’s confession in shorthand. She still has an amazing and heartfelt laugh, and she is still the woman who loves dogs so much that she considers picking up poop to be a task that should be conducted with reverence, although she leaves that to Heidi now. Spending time with this family – including the “recent” additions from her husband, who joined us about 25 years ago – and their dogs keeps me grounded. It also keeps my love for them stronger than it was when I hung out in their home to spend less time in my dogless house that was often empty after school.

Heidi and I and our dogs are connected in a way that cannot compare with the friends we meet when we’re adults. These are the proverbial ties that bind, and I am deeply grateful for them.

Share & Enjoy

Facebook	Twitter	Google Buzz	Digg
Technorati	StumbleUpon	Delicious	Email