Savannah
When even more human beings are finding it impossible to feed their children, it must be impossible for them to comprehend why anyone would feed a pet first or worry about its health and safety. Likewise, it is hard for those who have never had a pet to understand the grief experienced by those who have lost one. What they have no reason to comprehend is that love of another isn’t conditional upon their having two legs rather than four.
Like humans, every pet has its own distinct personality and character. Like us, they suffer deeply from past abuse and neglect. When they lose the person or people they love, they grieve and are afraid.
Animals like security and routine. They hate suitcases because it means that they will be left with a caretaker who doesn’t understand and love them the way their master does. They feel sad, won’t eat and spend far too much time sleeping or watching the front door of their home in anticipation of their owners return.
Any pet owner will tell you that their animal companions bring laughter, joy and love into their home. Their presence eliminates loneliness and gives those who are elderly or infirmed a sense of purpose and connection to life. When treated with love and kindness, their love is unconditional.
Most of all, I think they teach us to love without condition and to uncover and express depths of gratitude for their existence that we withhold from other human beings.
Because their lives are shorter than ours, adopting and caring for a pet makes us emotionally vulnerable in ways that are similar to opening ourselves to loving a child, a friend or a partner; for when we love, we expose ourselves to the pain of inevitable or tragic loss.
Savannah, my son’s Border collie died recently. Because she stayed with me for several months while he was in transition, we had the opportunity to come to know, then love each other. Her death was neither sudden nor unwelcome. She had just turned fifteen and had been failing for several months.
When I last saw her six months ago, I knew it would be the last time. She knew it, too. When I bent down to say goodbye, to give her a pat and a kiss I whispered that I would see her in heaven and looked forward to taking care of her again until her master joined us. She looked up at me and seemed to say “Thanks for understanding. I’m going to hold on as long as I can for him. I know I don’t have much time left, but I’m going to live it as fully as possible.” That’s exactly what she did.
Between bouts of age-related illnesses, she rallied to enjoy long hikes, to climb two hundred natural steps and to walk miles without resting. She died peacefully in her sleep on her terms and in her time.
Savannah wasn’t “just” a dog. She was a member of our family. Her sense of humor and wisdom shown through brown eyes that saw and experienced everything around her. With the tilt of a head she asked “What’s wrong?” With a sideways butt wag she would welcome the return of those she loved. When she wanted to eat or to be walked, she’d sit in front of me and whine until I stopped ignoring her. Her communication skills were amazing.
Savannah was buried on a hilltop overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Her master has planted a tree to shade her body which will in turn nourish the soil. I sent him the letter I wrote to Savannah and asked him to plant it with the tree. We all do similar things for those we have loved and lost. I’m glad I could do it for her.
Copyright 2009 by Jeanne M. Eck. All rights reserved. For permission to reprint or to quote extensively from this article, please contact the author at iamhappiertoknowyou.com