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11/29/2017 11:01 PMThe holidays are approaching faster than ever with the usual hectic pace and pressures, at the same time as my life slows down to a snail’s pace and I’m doing nothing to prepare.
That’s because the little love of my life, Penny Lane, is very sick.
Penny Lane, for those of you who do not know (she’s a popular gal in our small village of Stony Creek) is a 12 year-old, wire-haired Jack Russell terrier, who’s been part of our family for nine years. She’s a rescue from the Cosgrove Animal Shelter in Branford.
Like many Baby Boomers, we are not unique. She is the child that replaced the kids when they grew up and left home.
Barking and jumping and racing across the lawn one day—as Jack Russells do—and sick as a dog, quite literally, the next, Penny had to be rushed to our vet and then to the animal hospital where she spent almost a week after it was determined that she had developed a blood disease (hemolytic anemia) and required transfusions to raise her red blood cell count to attempt to keep her alive.
After the costs got to a point beyond exorbitant (we don’t have pet insurance) and she was showing little, if any, improvement, we made the painful decision to take her home. As kind as the people caring for her were, we knew she was depressed being in a hospital—and so were we.
We were told that most likely our dog would either respond to the six medications she was prescribed (and that we had to find ingenious ways of getting into her twice a day) or that she would not, and would pretty rapidly decline and die.
We grieved, we shed a thousand tears, and prepared to let her go.
But, at the time of my writing this column, Penny Lane has been home for going on 10 days, and although she is not a well dog (the anemia depletes her energy), nor is she a critically ill dog, and she doesn’t indicate that she’s in pain. My vet scratches his head in wonder. He expected it to more quickly go one way or the other.
Penny Lane has shown some positive steps toward feeling better, like eating and drinking, licking our faces, giving tiny tail wags, staying awake for more than an hour at a time, her gorgeous brown eyes following us around as we move her doggy bed from one room to another to keep her close to us.
Everything is a little miracle, like when she barked at a friend who came to visit. The dog, whose only negative attribute was her piercingly loud watchdog bark, had gone silent. Be careful what you wish for. I was never happier to hear that sound.
I was so frustrated, sad, scared, about the situation. To be in this limbo, to not know what I would find when I returned from being out, and anxious the whole time I wasn’t home.
But she looks at me with those clear, penetrating eyes, and rests her head on my lap, and teaches me things I need to know, I thought I knew, about life and death and everything in-between. I knew she was smart, but until now, I didn’t realize just how smart. Our pets are so much wiser than we are, so much more tuned into their own beings, so much more accepting of what is and what will be.
It’s hard to be in this place of not-knowing in a world that never stops going, where everything is urgent, immediate, and then quickly forgotten. It takes work to be in the moment, to let go of the stuff that simply doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
There are hundreds of books, workshops, and even phone apps (which I find rather ironic) to teach us to be present in our own lives.
That is the gift Penny Lane has given me.
She is teaching me to meet her and love her just where she is. To not be so arrogant as to try to rush or slow down the process for my own convenience, for my own discomfort in the not-knowing.
I am grateful that I am able to work mostly from home, and to comfort and nurture this sweet companion who has never given us anything but unconditional love. I am grateful for the wonderful friends, family, and neighbors who ask how she’s doing, stop by to visit, or leave a surprise in the mailbox—today, a get-well card with two little dog treats taped inside (she gobbled them right down). And Phyllis, our wonderful pet sitter, is a godsend during this difficult time.
And so, the holidays will come and the holidays will go, and this year I will not focus on what I haven’t done yet and still need to do, purchase, create, get crazy over.
I will get done those things that need to get done as I always have, just not obsessing as much, and I will be here for my dog as she has always been here for us, confident that we will know when it’s her time because she will make that decision, and she will let us know.
And, no matter what happens in whatever number of days, weeks, months, I take great comfort in knowing that Penny Lane will live on in our hearts, for always.
Amy J. Barry is a Baby Boomer, who lives in Stony Creek with her husband and assorted pets. She writes theater reviews for Shore Publishing newspapers and is an expressive arts educator. Contact her at www.aimwrite-ct.net.