What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path, amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! With what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from some distant window! How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted specter, beset his very path! How often did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! And how often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly scouring!
- - - Washington Irving (a quote from "The Legend of Sleep Hollow")
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Witch and ghost make merry on this last of dear October’s days. --Author Unknown
Two humans. Two dogs. Two of each. For the last six years, that's how we defined our family. Chris, me, Molly, and Dehlia. Just the four of us. Inseparable.
And for the last six years, road trips had always been one of our favorite things to do. The dogs loved the sites and the smells of the road. Chris and I loved the excitement and the change of scenery. Hitting the road was absolutely liberating. The constant hum of the tires against the pavement was soothing, and all four of us would be more than relaxed by the end of the trip.
We had a system - sort of. Sure, there were some chaotic moments. (Okay, many chaotic moments. But with two lively, energetic dogs, how could there not be?) But it was always worth it. Every insane, seemingly unmanageable moment was complete and utter bliss. Because we were together.
Today, we still love road trips. They're still exciting, liberating, and relaxing.
But now we're split. Our Molly has moved on, changed form, and is now swirling beyond our grasp. Just out of reach. And I'd give anything to be able to align with her again. Right now. I know it will happen eventually. Of that, I'm absolutely certain.
But I'm also impatient.
Last Saturday, on a spur of the moment whim, the three of us piled into the Jeep and drove. Drove to forget. Drove to remember. Or drove just to get our minds off the fact that, one week ago to the day, we laid one of our own to rest.
This is where we ended up. Lake Chelan. It was our first visit to the area, and the little bit that we saw took our breaths away. We made it to the lake less than an hour before nightfall, so we didn't have time to stop and explore. But the views from the road were enough - at least for the time being. We definitely plan on going back.
Chris. Dehlia. And me.
The three of us.
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He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion. -- Author Unknown
Faithful: With eye upraised his master’s look to scan, The joy, the solace, and the aid of man: The rich man’s guardian and the poor man’s friend, The only creature faithful to the end. --George Crabbe.
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"God ... sat down for a moment when the dog was finished in order to watch it... and to know that it was good, that nothing was lacking, that it could not have been made better." -- Rainer Maria Rilke
The last several days have been filled with so many ups and downs, I feel like I've been re-living the last few months of Molly's life in fastforward. I'll have a great, fantastic, wonderfully serene moment (usually during and just after meditation) where I'll feel completely calm and at peace. But then, a few hours later, when the chaos of the day has attacked and successfully clogged my mind, I'll loose it - completely.
It feels just like it did when my dad passed - eighteen year ago.
Mornings are hard, but bearable. I can usually pull myself out of the funk and get on with the day - sort of. Afternoons are a bit easier, in part because I've been watching a lot of Abraham DVDs and strangling Dehlia in one long, continuous hug. (Who, I might add, must sense something's wrong - she's really not a fan of cuddling in any way, but is graciously allowing me to sob into her coat almost on an hourly basis.) But in the evenings, when I watch a particular television show, or pick up a can of food that I bought last week, I'll immediately think, she was alive the last time we watched this, or she was alive when we bought this.
I know I need to pull myself out of this, this pattern of numbness, pain, extreme pain, acceptance, numbness, pain, extreme pain, unbearable pain... Chris tells me it will take some time. He's understanding. And patient. And caring. And... Without him I honestly don't know how I'd deal with this.
As for me... I'm trying to be more patient. It's just not happening fast enough.
Guess I'll put on another Abraham DVD. And brew some more tea.
And allow myself - just for awhile - to miss my little girl.
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"When you leave this physical form, and your consciousness returns fully to the Inner You, the physical you that has lived in this body will continue to be, always. That essence is always vibrationally accessible by others and by the Broader You."
"Relationships are forever. They are eternal. Not just permanent in this lifetime. Once you establish a relationship, it is an eternal relationship."
Anxiously awaiting their arrival. ;) ____________________
Monica: [Monica referring to her fancy new boots] "See, Chandler? I'm getting a lot use out of them already. They're very practical. See, you can wear them with dresses, with skirts, with pants..."
Chandler: "You can wear them with shorts on the street corner and earn the money to pay for them." -- Friends, "The One With Monica's Boots"
Molly's conditioned worsened late yesterday morning to the point that - even though we selfishly wanted to keep her around for a few extra days - there was no alternative other than to bring her to Doc and have her put to rest.
The procedure was painless (for her) and everything went very smooth. We're grateful for that.
Physically speaking, our baby girl is gone. I'd like to believe, however, that her energy is still swirling somewhere nearby - for at least awhile, anyway. Her loving little spirit is so big, I would never want to see it tethered.
She'll never, ever be forgotten.
** Molly's first trip to Kalaloch.
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"Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring--it was peace." -- Milan Kundera
For the last eight and a half years, I've focused almost solely on Molly. She's like a daughter - a four-legged, furry one - and is my absolute pride and joy. We have a relationship that goes so far beyond anything I've ever had before. The feelings I have for her run deeper than any feelings I've ever felt.
And now it's time to say good-bye.
We've set the date, made the arrangements, and are now spending her last few days just appreciating every moment we have with her. Old pictures have been dug out. Chris and I have been telling the same old funny stories about her over and over and over again...
But, on the inside, we're dying. Right along with her.
It's strange to feel this way. I believe in an afterlife. I know that "death" is not the end. And I've witnessed several transitions from this world to the next in my thirty-two years. But none of them have ever affected me like this one.
Despite my beliefs, my heart hurts. My soul feels crushed. My energy is drained.
This is the right decision. And I know that it's for the best. But none of that makes this any easier.
** Molly - 2006
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"One last word of farewell, dear master and mistress. Whenever you visit my grave, say to yourselves with regret but also happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long happy life with you: "Here lies one who loves us and whom we loved." No matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you, and not all the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail." -- Eugene O'Neill, from his Dalmatian, Blemie's, last will and testament
Some people think I'm strange. Maybe, even, a little crazy.
And that's fine by me.
In fact, if I had met myself a few years ago, I would have thought I was a little strange. And very, very crazy.
But now, when I think about my life and the direction it's heading, I feel calm. Peaceful. And completely, one-hundred percent sane.
My beliefs have changed over the past several years. A lot. Pessimism has been replaced by optimism. Sarcasm has been overcome by humor. And anxiety has succumbed to - ahhhh - relief.
I have done a complete one-eighty over the last three years and the benefits have been extraordinary.
For example - I no longer take life seriously. Why? Because there's nothing serious about it. At all. The world is literally our oyster, and we get from it exactly what we expect. No more. No less. And it's because of that philosophy that I believe - and here's when most people start to think I'm strange - that anything's possible.
Yes. Anything... Is... Possible. And, I'll even go a little further by daring to say that we actually create our own reality. Thought by thought, feeling by feeling, we mold our inner and outer world to and toward a design of our very own choosing. (And this is where the term crazy usually comes in...)
I believe that it is possible to like - even love - your job. I believe that the safest route isn't always that safe. I believe that no person should settle for mediocrity simply because "that's just the way it is". I believe that people should expect and only accept the very best. I believe that there are absolutely no limits to what a person can achieve. And, on a more personal note, I believe that it's certainly not foolish to browse million dollar homes when, currently, your only source of income stems from working at a veterinary clinic...
In a nutshell, I believe in the unbelievable.
Some people may think I'm irresponsible by not conforming to their version of knock-on-wood reality. That by not taking the traditional path that today's society (and societies past) have taken, I'm selfish, immature, and reckless. Even a little dangerous.
But I would have to - pleasantly and respectfully - disagree.
I think that not following your heart's desire and ignoring your bliss is far more dangerous and reckless than indulging in your passions could ever be. By struggling against the true nature of your being and fighting your desires, you're hindering not only the life that you're living right now, but - and most importantly - the life that you live after you leave this physical realm.
I believe that it's not only possible to have my cake, but to eat it, too.
And I know for a fact that a lot of people disagree with me. But that's not really a bad thing. Because the cake of life, as it is, never goes bad... It's always there, waiting to be eaten. And that first bite? That first bite is pure heaven.
** Here's a picture of my cake - I mean, Chris - and I on our wedding day... Exactly four years ago today. A perfect example of expecting and accepting only the very best. :)
It's easy to appreciate the good things in life, the things that are already going great: good health, a great income, a fantastic job, a comfortable home, a warm bed, a significant other who is so great he makes you feel like you're the luckiest person in the world... (Yes, Chris - I'm talking about you.)
But what about those things that aren't so perfect? That don't make your heart sing when you initially look at them? Those things that cause your stomach to clench and make your blood boil? Or that cause your heart to ride up into your throat and trigger tears of sadness? How do you find a way to appreciate those things?
It can be done. Trust me. I know from experience.
When I tell people that I work at a veterinary clinic, this is what I usually hear:
"Wow! What a great job!" "You get to play with puppies and kittens all day... Lucky!" "What I wouldn't give to have your job..." "Aren't you lucky? I get to deal with attorneys all day while you get to play with animals... It's not fair." "You have it made. I'd trade jobs with you in a heartbeat."
Hmph.
Well, I'm here to set the record straight. We do play with dogs and cats when they come in - sometimes. A veterinary hospital can be hectic place, and there are days when all we have time to do is give the animals a quick pat on the head when they arrive and a hasty treat before they leave. Because - surprise, surprise - there are more pressing matters to be dealt with: x-ray a hundred and ten pound mastiff that might be obstructed from eating bones two days ago, perform a dental cleaning on a yorkie that has a mouth fouler than a whole ship full of sailors, clean up the puke in the kennel room from the dog that ate the chocolate candy bars his owner had neglected to put away, help carry in the old Golden Retriever who is so sick he can't walk into the hospital on his own, draw blood from a feral cat that has never, ever been held by human hands. And then there are phones - phones that never seem to stop ringing - to answer.
And all this in a ten and a half hour day. Minus breaks.
Still wanna trade?
There are so many things that are going well in my life. In fact, up until very recently, I was able to appreciate absolutely every single aspect of my life - except my job. For the above-mentioned reasons and more, I found it extremely difficult to overcome the negative aspects of it and discover the positives.
But I was determined. Determined to overcome this roadblock - this mountain - that was throwing a shadow over my, otherwise, blessed life.
It was, so to speak, my own Everest.
Well, thanks to many hours of meditation, Abraham's recent book, and a phenomenal group of individuals that I have the privilege of interacting with every other week, I am now able to say - with one hundred percent of my being - that I appreciate my job.
In fact, there are so many things to appreciate about my place of employment that I find it difficult to ever recall a reason why I didn't appreciate it. I get to interact with dogs and cats on a regular basis. I get to witness the miracle of healing practically every day. I get to make a difference in not only the lives of animals, but their owners as well. The location of the clinic is amazing. (There's a beautiful view of Mt. Rainier from our backyard.) The hours that I work are great, and I love the fact that I still have free time to pursue the passions that I hold close to my heart. And, another bonus - I meet the nicest, nicest people.
These things that I appreciate about my job are just the tip of the iceberg. Even now, as I'm thinking about all of these positive aspects, about a hundred more are flooding through my mind. It's completely unreal. And amazing. And wonderful. And... I'm so, so, so grateful for my job.
My life is good. My life is blessed. And I'm truly, truly happy.
** Check this out... An eye-opening clip that was posted by a friend on Facebook. Funny and true....
"Everything's Amazing and Nobody's Happy"
BTW - I really, really appreciate Conan. :) ___________________
"We tend to forget that happiness doesn't come as a result of getting something we don't have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have." -- Frederick Keonig
"We are all one. In the human form we are pioneers embarked on a wonderful journey, exploring and experiencing the physical world." -- Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh
When I was seventeen, our English Comp class received an assignment to write an essay about where we saw ourselves in fifteen years. It was my senior year in high school and I, like everyone else, was suddenly finding myself thrust into the future with every turn I took, every conversation I had, and every piece of collegiate mail I opened.
I remember finishing the assignment without putting a lot of thought into it. At the time, I was in a serious relationship (as serious as high school relationships can get) and couldn't fathom seeing myself as anything other than a wife, mother, and teacher married to my high school boyfriend, teaching in the same neighborhood, and living in the same city as were I was currently living. In fact, the only thing my mind seemed to teeter back and forth on was whether I should include in the essay my fascination with Minnesota. But, seeing as how my current boyfriend couldn't stand the state, I eventually caved and reluctantly admitted that I saw myself living in Iowa for (probably) the rest of my life.
Obviously nothing in that essay happened. Not one single thing that I wrote in that paper came to pass. I'm not married to my high school boyfriend. I'm not a teacher. And I haven't lived in my hometown of Sioux City (or the state of Iowa, for that matter) for at least six years.
And you know what? I couldn't be happier about it.
I couldn't be happier about where I am and what I'm doing at this particular point in my life. In fact, I pondered this very thought as I drove home from a photo shoot yesterday morning. As the Jeep sailed down I-5 and AC/DC blasted from the stereo, I glanced out of my driver's side window and caught a glimpse of the early morning mist as it rolled gently down the Cascades. My heart fluttered with not just excitement, but with anticipation as I took in the beauty that is Western Washington. And, by taking a deep breath and savoring the moment, my heart continued to flutter the rest of the way home.
Never in a million years would I have ever guessed that I would end up out here. (I guess I shouldn't say "end up" because, as this experience has taught me, life is a constantly evolving, expanding process.) And never in a million years - much less fifteen - would I have ever thought I'd be lucky enough to be living my life the way that I truly wanted to live it by following my passions, my bliss.
But here I am.
Now, close to fifteen years later, I shudder at the thought of that essay. At the life that I, back then, found so appealing. Today, at thirty-two, I'm nothing like my seventeen year-old self. But I am fortunate enough to be able to appreciate the desires that I had at the time... And be grateful for the life experience that has led me, step by step, toward a destiny that is, in every sense of the word, fulfilling.
As for the next fifteen years? I have no idea. The only thing I know for sure is that it will be, without a doubt, absolutely amazing... And more fantastic than I - from where I'm currently standing - could ever, ever imagine.
“When you follow your bliss... doors will open where you would not have thought there would be doors; and where there wouldn't be a door for anyone else.”
I can't even begin to express how much fun I had at this morning's shoot with Baby C and his family. (You can bet I'll be writing more about it later.) For now, here's a few shots that I've just finished editing. Isn't he a cutie?
This is too much fun. Seriously.
And here's Baby C's brother from another mother... (A pittie in the house?!?! Of course I had to take a pic of that adorable face!)
I didn't say it out loud. Didn't declare it to the room. And I didn't make a statement of intent.
But I felt it. I felt this particular desire down to the very tips of my toes.
Poop.
Nope, that's not a typo. You read that correctly. P-O-O-P. Of the canine variety.
Yuck, you're probably thinking. And I would agree. Yuck with a capital Y. But at the time, during that particular moment of extreme emotional intensity, the first thing to pop into my mind was - yep - fecal matter.
I remember the day well. Sitting at my desk, wading through a pile of papers - legal mumbo-jumbo, if you will - and hearing the clock in the office literally ticking away my life, I suddenly felt an emotional surge so strong that the tiny hairs on my arms stood up. I glanced down at the brief that I was proofreading and thought - with every ounce of my being - I'd rather be out picking up dog poop than doing this. And in that moment, I felt a soft tingle of relief ripple through my body. Even the bruise on my forehead - which had swollen to the size of a small plum from banging my head incessantly on my desk earlier that morning - ceased to throb. (Okay, it really wasn't that big, and I only slammed my head against the desk two or three times. Tops.)
But at that moment in time, no matter how fleeting it was, dog poop was my bliss.
Now, several years later, dog poop is certainly not my bliss. To put it mildly, if I had a dime for every pile I've had to pick up at the veterinary clinic where I work, I could retire a very wealthy woman. In fact, I was pondering this very thought yesterday as I stooped to pick up a particularly fresh pile of the above-mentioned stuff. As I held my breath and wrinkled my nose, I had an A-Ha moment. And, in typical A-Ha fashion, it slammed into me so hard I felt like I'd walked into a wall.
I. Asked. For. This.
Wow. Um, say that again please?
I asked for this. This experience. This extremely smelly, filthy, oh-my-god-this-is-the-most-disgusting-thing-I've-ever-had-to-do experience. The reality of the situation dawned on me, and I started to laugh. And laugh. As I dumped the heaping pile into the trash bin, I was filled with appreciation as I witnessed - yet again - the enormous power of our thoughts.
You know that old saying? Be careful what you wish for... 'Cause you just might get it.
Well, I'm here to tell you that you do. Get it.
I mean, poop. Come on... Who would have ever thought?
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"Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted." -- John Lennon
