Zelda
Maybe, once in a life time, if we’re lucky, do we encounter the complete and enamored spell of falling in love with the Dog, given to mankind as a holy and reverent species for the purpose of befriending our weary souls during our trials and tribulations on the earth plane, as well as for sharing in our joys, that the dog, more than the rest of us, contributes to. The dog intuitively understands the call of spirit, giving earnestly of themselves with heart, love and loyalty, which is the essence of God’s love for us all. Once smitten by the dog, we are never the same, ever again, we are only enriched into love’s knowing, having discovered love in its purest form, which is the reason the Dog is God spelled backwards. When we fall in love with our dogs, they leave indelible paw print impressions on our hearts that literally transform us beyond this plane of limited knowing, into the wonder of unlimited expression. The dog teaches us this naturally through their own examples of loving us, (when we let them) which is precisely what every dog on this planet seeks to do. Love and be loved by you.
On Saturday, January 24, 2009, my dearest husband and best “human” friend I could ever want for, John, and I, along with our forlorn pets, lost the remarkable companionship of our beloved dog, “Zelda” who came to this planet clothed in the garment of a black and tan coon hound, with an intuitive brilliance that out smarter us both. Her nurturing sensibilities wrapped our family up into an embrace that made us feel supremely loved, that was unknown to us in this way before she arrived. Without a doubt, Zelda was irrevocably the truest and most compassionate being in our household, who was the center of our universe that has bottomed out without her – without her infectious presence in our lives. None of us (dogs included) are quite sure now how to proceed, because she was the glue that bound our family together. What will we talk about now?
Zelda provided memories to last John and I a lifetime (and beyond) who slept between us on our bed at night, who never began a day without licking us incessantly with kisses, from one head to the next before she’d get off the bed, with more kisses throughout the day, especially when John and I were at odds with one another. In times such as this, she’d go back and forth between us, distraught with worry, quivering uncontrollable, wanting so badly for peace to be the maker of our household. She always gave to her brothers first, with the exception of food, which she always got more of, because John was the dispenser of food from the table, one bite for him, one for Zelda, one for Kafka, one for Nemo, then Sparkles, back to Zelda, which was his way of showing us that she was his favorite. Zelda made John happy in every way, as he patting her on the head when he’d pass her, calling out her name, again and again, with a nickname of “Pup”, with a love that overflowed into his poems and dreams, this female dog he adored, even more than me, which didn’t bother me because I wanted her to be as loved by John as she was by me.
Zelda had a nose for new discoveries, who’d bark loudly when we’d drive by favorite romping spots, even if we weren’t stopping, which we usually were, because being together in nature was our passionate pastime. We’d spend hours together with the dogs, including many that didn’t live here that we’d pick up along the way. Forget that Zelda barked, we didn’t mind, we were happy to allow her full expression. She was always in the same room with us, and even jumped off a roof top once to find us, fracturing a leg that gave her problems the rest of her life, but that didn’t daunt her when it came to adventuring into the back country with her brothers, with them being gone sometimes for hours, which testing my patience, or rather, which taught me my patience, may she romp and frolic in peace with Flaubert and Gatsby who all served their life missions here on earth with us so well in loving us.
It was in March of 2000, shortly before leaving for a vacation to Mexico that I had this whole-hearted knowing that a female dog would come into our lives. My thinking was that her energy would complement our family, then comprised of two elderly male dogs, several male cats, along with my male husband, John, and a male puppy (that I was falling in love with) “Sparky” who came to work at the pottery studio I worked at, that I thought could use a friend, in the same way that I needed a baby to love. (This was our second marriage, and John and I had pretty much decided that a human baby was not going to be in our picture.) I wanted a puppy, like “Sparky” that could come home with me at night, instead of being whisked away by his owner, as “Sparky” was. But John wouldn’t hear of it, “Didn’t we have enough pets, already?” was his only comment on another dog. I have this quality that I like very much about myself that doesn’t listen to anyone or anything, like a TV that tells me something that I don’t want to hear. To distract myself from John’s annoying stance on no more pets, I got up from the table and called a woman I hadn’t spoken to in years, but who had been on my mind.
Within moments of that phone call I was out the door and driving to see this friend (Jaime) who just happened to know, she told me over the phone, that her neighbors had a litter of puppies that were adorable! (What puppy isn’t?) And the next thing I remember is that I’m trudging across a field still crusted over with winter snow and mud, almost running, with Jaime and her puppy following behind me, who was in pursuit of a dog of my own. When I arrived, there she was, this beautiful dog that was already pulling at my heartstrings, (thank God she was a girl) who barked more than the rest of her litter mates. I don’t know why, but just like that, in all this puppy chaos, I was falling in love with the most obnoxious dog! When she saw me she made it known, immediately, that she didn’t want her tummy rubbed, but that she wanted out of the gate that kept her coon hound nose from discovering larger pastures. I remember her distinct barking that day that told me that she wanted the gallon of milk that was sitting on a stool in the barn, next to the gate that I poured into a central bowl, watching as this little insistent dog (pig) lapped up the contents before the others had a chance to get much for themselves. She was to enjoy a bowl of milk every day for the rest of her life.
As Zelda wasn’t yet old enough to leave her mother, I took her home for a short visit to meet John and our other dogs, Flaubert and Gatsby and Kafka, who showed little interest in her puppy antics. John, on the other hand, was smitten when she tucked into snuggle around his neck while he sat at his computer. There was an exchange between our eyes that marked the moment when he knew that she belonged with us. What a relief! I paid the woman $50, ten over what she was asking, and told her daughter who had named my puppy “Crystal” to look after her with lots of love while I was away in Mexico. I spent the next week on a nude beach thinking mostly about the dog I’d be going home to as the tides washed in an out and the full moon rose, musing and reading and thinking about my Zelda, a name John had come up with before I left. It was the longest vacation of my life, but also the best, because I knew I was coming home to this puppy that I thought would be with us for the rest of our lives.
And while she’s still with us in spirit, her ‘physical life’ ended abruptly when John took Zelda into an emergency clinic on Saturday, because she was having difficulty breathing. To our dismay, the Vet discovered that Zelda had cancer, with fluids outside her lungs, which had gotten to the point where she couldn’t sleep, leaving us no option other than to put her down. While all of this was terrible, it was also a day of incredible bonding between John and I, who shared this love connection with Zelda in a way that only he and I could understand. I made a pot of tea, and for the rest of the afternoon and evening we sat in our office sharing Zelda stories, until the emotional strain of the day took us to bed with exhaustion.
The next morning, the first thing out of John’s mouth was that he missed Zelda more than he thought he could bare, wondering, he asked me, how we would ever be able to continue on without her? Knowing that there’s a solution to everything, including achieving peace, I told him that there was probably a black and tan coon hound rescue program online that we could look into, which had John at the computer checking. When I came home from my walk with the dogs that morning, I asked John if he’d found our girl, and he replied, “As a matter of fact, I have.’ And now, thanks to Zelda who would want us to carry on her love for another more “needy” dog, we are the proud parents of an abandoned coon hound, around five-years-old that we’re naming, “Dharma.” John will pick her up in Appleton on Saturday, one week after Zelda’s crossing over the Rainbow Bridge into paradise that happened, not coincidently, on the 31st of January, which would have been Zelda’s ninth birthday.
PS See John’s tribute poem under the tab above marked “Poems.”
To view “Dharma” our incoming coon hound – who has a striking resemblance to our Zelda, (who I’m sure has her light-body paw in all of this) scroll down for yourself and see that the blessing of the dog lives on!
Dharma
