Twelve Years Ago Today: BearGirl

Photo copyright Wings, 2019;
all rights reserved.

Twelve years ago yesterday, about this very time. It was our last walk together: Wings, me, BearGirl, Hunter. She lay there enjoying the autumn breeze.

She was a gorgeous [then-]11-year-old Newfie who, with her Aussie little sister, captured my heart the moment we all saw each other. The very first time I came to visit, she and Hunter heard the car and somehow knew, and as I turned into the drive they were already rocketing across the field like a pair of fuzzy bullets, ready to greet this woman they had never known existed. BearGirl danced around the open door while Hunter climbed in into the driver's floorboards under my feet, and they grinned at me.

They also never let me go, no matter what.

But on this day, San G, in 2007, we had to let BearGirl go, let her make her final journey. Twelve years ago today, again, almost to the moment. She had been poisoned, slowly, by a medication that caused ulcers, and then tumors, and by the time we knew it, it was already too late. But we tried. Oh, did we try. For four weeks, we gave it everything we had, and she did well up until the last day, when her body simply gave out. She had a small stroke, and that was it; it was time. And no one would come out, save the man who is now our dogs' vet, the same one who helped both She-Wolf and Raven on their way these last two years. He wasn't even on call, but he came. And he helped her, and he wept with us, and he arranged for her cremation, all on a Saturday.

Her ashes, like Hunter's, are scattered across her favorite places, but two in particular: the spot outside the old house where she used to love to lie up against it in the sun, now a part of the earth right outside the corner of this house, and up against one of the standing stones. At a dozen minutes after one, I'll take some cedar and some tobacco and some water out to that stone for her. If we had it to do over again, we'd simply bury them as we have with all of our dogs since, but at the time, it seemed like the right thing somehow. Besides, their spirits are not confined, and I always know when BearGirl's visiting.. She comes to Wings with the flicker, to dance at the end of his flute that she so loved to hear him play; to me, she comes on the scent of sage, the smoke of the medicine. When I smell sage and no one's burning any, I know she's here checking up on us.

BearGirl was our first loss together, of the animals, and it was a terrible one. We mourned for weeks; still do, for that matter. We didn't know, then, that this would be permanent, but BearGirl knew, and so did Hunter. Since then, I have been the keeper of the dates, always, but yesterday Wings asked about her, and I told him that I would be taking care of her spirit today, as always. The animals never harm us; they only give. It feels more necessary to honor their spirits accordingly.

And so, in a few moments, I'll do that, as I do on this day every year. And I'll weep a few more tears for our Makwakwezens. We love you, BearGirl.



All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2019; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.