Melancholy Math
I slept with a stuffed animal tucked under my arm last night. I realize that may seem odd for a fifty-something lady, but I lost my last hairless blessing yesterday. She was eight and a half years old give or take a wagging tail. I certainly thought we would have more time together. But cancer had other plans.
I get lost in numbers sometimes because there is a mystery in math that shows me the hand of Grace more often than a sunset on a summer night. And yesterday in my mental doodling as I was passing time with my precious Dalai before the HomeVet arrived, I realized it would be 17 years that I slept with a dog in my bed. Until tonight. Thus the stuffed blonde poodle tucked under my arm which my college girl suggested. I didn’t think I would reach for the toy when I was closing my misty eyes but the red neck sage went over and grabbed it from a nearby chair and I cuddled it up under my arm (the same way that Dal slept with me every night) and oddly enough it felt comforting and I must have fallen asleep quickly after that since I don’t remember anything else.
17 years of hairless dogs warming my bed and nurturing my soul. Dal came to me right when my beloved Bella left this world. They were my two dharma dogs and my teachers for the Not So Shaggy Dog Stories that followed. It would be fitting to end the blog on Dal’s passing as I started the series when Bell died. But as anyone who knows me even a little . . . separation isn’t my strong suit. And I tend to repeat my stories more now in my later years so continuing my blog was never really at issue. Writing is my oxygen. Every pen, android, tablet, laptop and buddha board is my breath.
Seventeen years with a mexican hairless touching me. ♫I learned the truth at seventeen♪. My home left me at 17 and I came to California from back east as my mother picked up her roots and left the country. She never wanted to raise a child … she reminded me often, so a local college was never an option. I grew up knowing that I would need to leave at 17. Mom taking a job out of the country was her way of enforcing her rules.
So I came to college, bought a 53 Chevy and had a head on collision that totaled the car as I was driving it back to the dorms. The car is a faded memory of what never was but the mexican blanket that covered the back bench seat was under my mexican hairless on her last night. I’ve kept that blanket all these years. Let’s face it the blanket has been around more than Mom, who eventually returned from her out of Africa movie only to leave again some seven years ago. But I’m not a teen now. And she can’t come and throw away all of my stuffed animals (or my daughter’s) telling me that I need to grow up.
Is it odd that I slept with a toy dog last night? Not in a million metaphors.
Seventeen tears. It’s a long time. But in truth it was only a few months before that when I lost my first pride and joy. I haven’t talked about my obedience trained Sheltie who died right before Bella came to rescue me. And it wouldn’t surprise you to know they each lived 13 years. Which is why I suppose I was so surprised that Dalai left me at only 8. I thought I would have more time with her.
Then of course I did the math and realized that Bella was five before we adopted her. Both she and Dalai were each with me for eight+ years. Which is how 8+8 can ever equal 17. It simply does in the meandering mind of an old lady who breathes the words she puts down on paperless prose. That doesn’t surprise anyone who knows me and all of the stories that I repeat. Certainly not the redneck who whispered in my ear last night … we are gonna get a Sheltie. It all adds up, does it not?
