four leaf clover

Dear Harley,

If I could write a letter that you would hear with your two big, floppy ears, I would tell you what a loyal companion and great dog you have been. If I could write a letter that you could feel in your heart, it would explain much, much more.

Although we could fool ourselves into thinking I chose you, we would both know that was a white lie. Back when you were one or two years old, in the pound (yes, you are not a pure Black Lab as you think), you chose me completely. Even then, you came to me, wagging and smiling, warding off anyone else who may claim you. As I made my way to the back of your awful cage, someone else circled around front. Without a moment to choose, you came to me, barking and letting me know we were buddies. You were mine, but I never owned you, we both knew that. We were in it together.

Together, we changed your name from awful sounding Wes to a better name that more suited your style. Trying over and over, a name that made you smile and your big ears perk up, we sounded out many names, until you found one you liked. Har-leeee.

You tried harder than I have ever seen anyone or anything try, to learn, and together we learned many life lessons. We learned that you like hardwood floors, not carpeting (because you pull it up) and that although I would always get up to let you out, I am not necessarily, a “morning person.” You learned to “potty” outside, within a few days, and scowled, like all of us, when an accident happened. But, as I forgave you for your imperfections, you forgave me as well.

I remember as if it were yesterday when I put you in a New England Patriots jersey and we watched them do the unthinkable with a rookie….much as we had done, together.

The perfect guard dog (in your younger years) you always barked and looked ferocious, but as both aged, we began to realize who was threatening and who was not. We both agreed that the mailman was not a threat and often napped through deliveries. You though, always knew the difference, and even in your sleep knew to protect me and keep me from harms reach.

We cared for each other when we were sick, very sick, and did all we could with smiles and hugs and love, to make the pain go away. And it always did. When you insisted on eating a rock in the backyard I was there for you, in the hospital, you in your IV and me in tears. And when I became sick, you worried more than any Mother Hen, or any parent, and never left my side, and together we both healed.

For years we moved from place to place, many more times than I would have liked, and we both adapted, and learned. You learned new boundaries and I learned that although neither of us liked change, we could face a new day, in a new place, always.

You did far more than any “pet” should ever do, and defended me as a soldier, a loyal companion, and best friend. You laid your own life on the line, when mine was in danger. Perhaps because at one point, you too, had been hurt. You did that though without hesitation and I knew right then that you would die for me. If you could talk you would have yelled, but then again, that was not your style. I, eventually, would move us again, to safer ground.

We would learn more and more about each other, perhaps from the moves, or the uncertainty, but I learned that you like fleece blankets, but not heated blankets and we both like a comfortable, soft place to sit and rest.

We both snore, and make growling sounds when we sit and get up, and although our bodies are strong in spirit our hips and back sometimes ache, and as much as we like to run in the snow, we also like to sit by the fire, and rest our bones.

And so, Harley-dog, as we both grow older, and know each other perhaps better than anyone could (without a word), we are reminded always that someday our paths may come to a fork in the road. As you approach your senior years, and I approach what could be my mid life, we know that the future is uncertain, but all things die. We also know that we will fix each other, and heal each other, as long as possible.

I will comfort your aging body as you comfort my aging soul, and together we will face pain, happiness and the not so graceful aging of our bodies. I will say little about your gray chin and I know you will think little of my gray hairs and love me just the same.

Together, I think, we have seen it all.

For now though, you remind me, by opening the cabinets and eating everything from flour to noodles, that you are old, but not so old. You remind to be young, and a little feisty and even a little naughty. Although someday everyone will meet the Angel of Death at the door, you remind me to keep dancing, and do all I can to be “here.” You have always been present and you remind me by your excitement to see me, to be “here”…now.

Someday though, as all roads do, our path will become two, and will we will go separate ways. I find comfort though, that up ahead, when the way bends and turns, and I too, head on to the unknown, that you will be there, waiting as all best friends do, to guide me, comfort me, and walk beside me.

If I could write a letter that you could feel in your heart, I guess it would only say four words. Thank you my friend.

Love, Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 6th, 2010 at 9:45 pm and is filed under Essays.



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