Rainbow Bridge

In the past few days my dear friends, Sunny and Teri, have lost pets, have had their pets cross the Rainbow Bridge. I feel for them. I hurt for them. I cry for them. Their loss is made more significant to me because my Dixie-Dog is approaching the Rainbow Bridge. She officially has congestive heart failure, arthritis, cataracts, and she is deaf. She can no longer hear me calling to her.

Our love affair began when I decided I wanted a dog for companionship. My husband worked non-stop. I wanted something to come home to. I didn’t realize that that “something” was the most self-aggrandizing thing possible. When I come into the house my dogs go berserk. They throw themselves at my feet in total adulation, I am not worthy. They love me beyond anything I could ever comprehend. What a rush.

One falls in love with their dog. I had no idea that when I decided I wanted a pet that I would develop a life relationship. My first thought was “I’ll adopt a mutt from the shelter.” I decided I wanted a medium sized dog. I’m not a purse-size dog person. I began looking at the website of the local no-kill animal shelter. There was a beautiful “mother.” She’d just had pups and was at a foster home. I made an appointment to visit her.

I told my husband I was just going to look. I pulled up to the property, got out of my car, and walked toward the front door. A black and white Border Collie with a red bandana strutted down the steps toward me. Was this a set-up? She sat down in front of me and raised her paw to shake hands. Oh my. I was smitten. This was my dog. The paperwork went quickly. I paid my $75.00 and promised not to let her ride in the back of a pickup truck.

As I left the property of the foster home with my new companion I realized I had no idea what to do.  I stopped at the local pet store and bought all the necessary accroutrements. As I was loading my car with dog food, and a kennel, and blankets, and treats, and leads and collars, and books on how to let a Border Collie raise you, my husband drove into the parking lot and said, “I knew I’d find you here.”

I felt as if I’d been caught in a torrid affair. “How did you know I’d be here,” I asked. He knew. That’s what he does. He knows!

Years later Dixie is still my companion. Whatever room I am in, she is there also. She sheds more than I thought she would. She is old and coughs and hacks up disgusting “stuff.” She passes gas that would put any teenage boy or old man to shame, but she is mine. I can tolerate the hacked up fur balls, the “un-godly scented vomit,” the gastric aroma, and the shedding.

What I can’t abide is the thought that she will leave me soon. I will love and cherish her until then, thankful that some Higher Power had the brilliant idea of dogs!