Nine years and some change ago, it happened that I celebrated the tenth anniversary of my marriage. My husband told me to sit in what was in that house (we live elsewhere now) what I affectionately called the "ditchen"... a kitchen with tiny, den-like sitting area attached, and to close my eyes. He placed a warm, wiggly puppy on my lap. I was truly surprised.
I held the little dachshund for two hours without letting go. Nearly ten years later, I am still in love with him. Little Charlie is still a staple of our household, close to its heartbeat. He makes it a warm place to come home to. He is a tie back to the time when my teenaged boys spent time with me, and enjoyed some of the same things I do. He is a loving, loyal, consistent presence at the center of my world.
Throughout the week that he spent in and out of the vet clinic, at times seeming to hate the very life that still clung to him, at others seeming to hold onto it by the merest thread, I had a tender experience. I have heard people say that when they believe death is imminent, their entire life flashes before their eyes. This past week, Charlie's played out before mine, in images that were poignant, leaving sore spots on my soul. I remember me, Matt, aged seven and Jon, aged three, out on a pond on a paddleboat. Charlie, frantic not to be left behind, jumped into the pond and began churning his little legs toward us in the water. "Move to him fast," Gary was yelling from the shore. He was afraid the little dachshund legs would fail Charlie and we would lose him. I remember another cabin experience. Charlie jumped from a fourteen- foot embankment when he saw us loading into the car, rather than taking the three minute walk back the way he had come, again afraid he would be left behind. Sometimes love is irrational, we have learned. I remembered photos of him at the end of a dock while everyone fished. I thought of how he ran from us after we had moved into this house eight years ago. "He is acting like he doesn't love us," Matt said, disappointed. Not so. He just needed about twenty minutes of running around time. Every time he ever made a jail break, and that was often in his early years, he would run for approximately twenty minutes, then head on home. That seemed to be his aerobics timeframe. Just a few minutes ago I remembered how I made a ten hour drive by myself to visit my grandmother when she was sick and seemed close to death. She lived for another year or so, but she was bedridden at this time. I had Charlie with me for company. He was a comfort to me in a truly dark time.
In the emotional and often scheduled chaos of life, I have taken Charlie for granted. I will NEVER do that again. I almost lost him this past week. The grief that I wore like a bulky bathrobe for several days was suffocating. The pain was almost physical. My husband, not an emotional person by any stretch of the imagination, was hurting too. This was something new for me to witness. I learned a valuable life lesson, one I hope will not fade. We simply cannot take for granted the beautiful gifts God has given us, as most will slip through our fingers at some point in time. We have to celebrate them while they are here.
I held the little dachshund for two hours without letting go. Nearly ten years later, I am still in love with him. Little Charlie is still a staple of our household, close to its heartbeat. He makes it a warm place to come home to. He is a tie back to the time when my teenaged boys spent time with me, and enjoyed some of the same things I do. He is a loving, loyal, consistent presence at the center of my world.
Throughout the week that he spent in and out of the vet clinic, at times seeming to hate the very life that still clung to him, at others seeming to hold onto it by the merest thread, I had a tender experience. I have heard people say that when they believe death is imminent, their entire life flashes before their eyes. This past week, Charlie's played out before mine, in images that were poignant, leaving sore spots on my soul. I remember me, Matt, aged seven and Jon, aged three, out on a pond on a paddleboat. Charlie, frantic not to be left behind, jumped into the pond and began churning his little legs toward us in the water. "Move to him fast," Gary was yelling from the shore. He was afraid the little dachshund legs would fail Charlie and we would lose him. I remember another cabin experience. Charlie jumped from a fourteen- foot embankment when he saw us loading into the car, rather than taking the three minute walk back the way he had come, again afraid he would be left behind. Sometimes love is irrational, we have learned. I remembered photos of him at the end of a dock while everyone fished. I thought of how he ran from us after we had moved into this house eight years ago. "He is acting like he doesn't love us," Matt said, disappointed. Not so. He just needed about twenty minutes of running around time. Every time he ever made a jail break, and that was often in his early years, he would run for approximately twenty minutes, then head on home. That seemed to be his aerobics timeframe. Just a few minutes ago I remembered how I made a ten hour drive by myself to visit my grandmother when she was sick and seemed close to death. She lived for another year or so, but she was bedridden at this time. I had Charlie with me for company. He was a comfort to me in a truly dark time.
In the emotional and often scheduled chaos of life, I have taken Charlie for granted. I will NEVER do that again. I almost lost him this past week. The grief that I wore like a bulky bathrobe for several days was suffocating. The pain was almost physical. My husband, not an emotional person by any stretch of the imagination, was hurting too. This was something new for me to witness. I learned a valuable life lesson, one I hope will not fade. We simply cannot take for granted the beautiful gifts God has given us, as most will slip through our fingers at some point in time. We have to celebrate them while they are here.
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