December 23, 2014 – Blessed by Black Labs

Listen to this post:

Joe and I have had three black Labradors – all boys.  Well the first one, Bud, was really Joe’s dog. He was nine when Joe and I started dating – when I lived in a house that had white carpet and a white sofa.  It was my girly-girl house.  My dad called it my little “bijoux.”  After my divorce, I just knew that I’d share my life with another husband and I wanted a period of time when I could live in a more feminine and refined house than would be comfortable for the kind of guy’s-guy I’m attracted to!  The first time he came over with Bud, I put blankets down on the carpets and instructed them that he had to stay right over there, with all his black dog hair.

Joe was diagnosed with lymphoma six days after our first date.  So within a few weeks, we not only knew that he was going to become very sick from the chemotherapy treatments prescribed for him, but also that we were “the one” for each other.  So he, and his black dog moved in with me in my white house.  Joe had to stay overnight in the hospital for the second chemo treatment, leaving me at home with Bud, the black dog.  I’d never had a dog in my thirty-something life and I was actually a bit scared of him.  Poor guy, he must have been pretty uneasy with me too!

In the morning I had to leave him in the house to go to work in the city (San Francisco).  Since Joe’s dad was picking him up and bringing home about 8am, I thought Bud wouldn’t be there alone long.  Timing is NEVER as expected in the hospital though, and they were several hours late getting home. In the meantime, Bud had to pee. I’d shut all the doors to the bedrooms and bathroom in the hallway wanting to keep him as corralled as possible. He tried to get in to each room by chewing all of the door jambs, as well as scratching at the French door to the backyard before finally relieving himself on the white carpet in the living room. Joe came home to his girlfriend-of-one-month’s perfect white house with shredded door jambs and a big pee spot on the white rug.  Oh… no.

I guess I passed some kind of test when I didn’t completely freak out when he called me at work to tell me. Oh, well. What were we to do? He’s in the construction industry and got someone to repair the wood work and we had the carpet cleaned.  I had no idea I should have made him go for a pee before leaving!

About a year and a half after old Bud died, we got BJ (Buddy Junior). BJ and I were pals – we walked every day together and we played “stair-ball”- a game where he dropped the ball down the stairs and I threw it back up to him. He died suddenly in an accident when he was 5 and a half years old.  I watched it happen.  It was an awful experience.  I couldn’t sleep for a couple of nights, for the flashes of memory that kept coming up.  We missed our BJ-boy so much, it was a very difficult time. Was there ever going to be another dog who would play stair-ball?  Was I ever going to love another dog like I did him? Joe asked me, what if I could love another dog even more?  (Yes, he’s a pretty amazing guy.)

For anyone who doesn’t know, Labs shed. They shed a lot. All the time.  Fur goes everywhere. The furniture, our clothes – I find it in my food sometimes – and fur even sticks to the moist paint in my palette.  I mean everywhere. If we don’t sweep the hardwood floors for several days, dust bunnies of black dog hair form in the corners.  Pretty serious shedding.

There came a day after BJ died, a few weeks had passed, when I swept the hardwood floors and there was no dog hair.  I was not relieved for the lack of mess. My grief welled up anew. No dog hair meant no BJ.

Our dogs bring such great energy to our house and to our marriage.  They are family – so easy to love. As Valerie, a student of mine, puts it, there is a special chamber in our hearts for our love of them. But it’s still easy to get annoyed by the fur, the mess, the inconvenience.

We now have Bo (short for BoJangles). We got him four months after BJ died, at seven weeks old (I first held him at 3 weeks).  He’s now 4 and a half.  And I believe they share the same spirit – but that’s another post.  I can honestly say, that I have a completely transformed relationship with the dog hair that is all over our world. We have this pup, we have his fur.  It’s a great way to look at a lot of things:  a friend one day expressed her exasperation at her son’s finger prints all over the refrigerator – I gently reminded her she has a son!  Even though he never means to, my hubby tracks dirt in the house with his running shoes – and I have an awesome husband.  Our big oak tree out front drops leaves all over our yard, 365 days a year.  Yesterday Joe was bemoaning how he’d just cleaned up the side patio and the wind covered it again with leaves. I said “one day we won’t live under this tree.”  Joe said “and when we don’t, I will miss it.”

There’s another way of looking at this that helps my perfectionism take a step back.  Who says that the one who is “messy” is the one with the problem?  What if the problem is mine, needing everything to be so neat all the time?

I’m all about creating freedom – including for myself.  I can help myself free from my perfectionism by reminding myself that what I love will always come with something that will challenge me.  Everything in life is a mixed bag, as my God-mother Donna tells me.  I want to be free to enjoy the blessing part of the mix.

Right now, Bo-Doggy is lying flat on his side on his dog blanket on the bed with me as I write, occasionally taking a deep breath and letting it out with a sigh.  Yes, there’s dog fur on the blanket, and he’s an enormous blessing in our lives.  He’s also great at playing stair-ball. Even better than when he was BJ.   In this moment, his presence feels pretty miraculous. I’ll take that over a fur-free life any day.

May the magic of believing in miracles bring you joy and delight too.  I wish you a Merry Christmas, a Happy Channukah, a blessed Solstice or whatever you celebrate this time of year.  And a happy and healthy 2015.  I am so very grateful for you in my life.

Love,

Cara