A year ago I wrote extensively about my dog Maisie and her last week with us. She was my girl in so many ways, and a complete sponge for affection. Her place in my heart is secured for eternity. Sickly as a puppy, she had a rough life healthwise for all of her days. In the end, she was skinny, arthritic, and in a lot of pain. But she was the most beloved dog I’d known in my life. She owned me.
I think it’s safe to say that her death kicked me pretty hard. A lot of the joy in my life vanished with her, and it’s been a struggle some days to smile in the wake of that death. People without pets won’t get that part of the emotions, it’s something you have to experience. Those animals are part of your family and they are mourned just like any other death.
Less than a month after Maisie died, and a lot of tears later, Stormy came to live with us. I’ve written often of her previous life and travails. She was twice adopted and very reluctant to interact/love when she came to our house. It’s taken a lot of trust building in the last 11 months to get to where we are today. Still no licks on my face, but she’s comfortable enough with me to sleep on the bed and sit on the couch with me. I’m in love, she’s in love (the wagging tail tells the tale her other actions won’t.)
With that being said, today is an anniversary that I don’t dread. I remember Maisie fondly, still tear up for a moment when I think about her, and feel a clutch at my heart regarding her death. But Stormy is waiting every morning when I get home from work with anticipation. She circles the room and then sits at attention in front of me, quivering with joy as I rub her snout.
God heals our wounds. Stormy is a rescue dog. Yet the question is: who rescued whom? I suspect the answer is the fat guy with the beard was the one who was saved. Thanks, God. She’s a perfect fit for the hole in my heart.