Thirteen Years.

Photo copyright Wings, 2020; 

all rights reserved.

Oh, BearGirl. It can't possibly have been thirteen years already since you left us. And yet it is.

She would be the first of many — so many; too many — of the animals who would have to leave us since we began our lives as a couple, and so this day is always especially hard. It's also hard because it was still too soon, entirely unnecessary but for the veterinary malpractice that took her from us. We had taken her to said vet some weeks previously, the vet clearly surprised and none too pleased to see me holding her leash, and when it came time to examine her, BearGirl turned and fled to hide her face between my knees. "Mom," was Wings's comment.

But the animals in our lives have never been child substitutes; they are equals in spirit. Dependent on us, surely, that doesn't imply a childlike status, merely care. And BearGirl was already an old soul, impossibly wise. She was in the neighborhood of eleven years old on this day thirteen years ago, and while that's long for a Newfie, she should have had much longer. But I had only recently learned of the long-term damage that had been inflicted previously, and its shadow and her spirit had finally caught up with each other.

I still remember how she greeted me the day we met: a week after Wings and I had first met, as it happens, when I came here for our first date, no small amount of trepidation on my part because of all the obvious reasons, and because I had also been so long out of the dating game, courtesy of life and work and the need to take care of two ill elder parents. I had no real idea what to expect, but as I turned into the drive, she and her sister Hunter saw my car, fixed their eyes straight on me, and came bulleting all the way across the north field as fast as their legs could carry them, so fast they seemed nearly to levitate. By the time I parked, they were dancing with anticipation; I opened the driver's door, and Hunter, a gull-sized Australian Shepherd, immediately shoved her way in under my feet, while BearGirl, enough older to insist on retaining a smidgen of dignity, merely danced and shoved her head in onto my lap. It was a minute or two before I could even get out of the car, because these two girls adopted me instantly, and they never let me go.

Letting BearGirl was exceedingly hard, and we had fewer than four weeks to adjust ourselves to the idea that she might not make it through the crisis, through the battle her body was insistently waging despite all odds. Indeed, on the next-to-last day, we were still arguing with fate, hoping for a miracle. But on the day of the Feast of San Geronimo, when absolutely no help is to be found, a mini-stroke foreclosed all other avenues, and it was time. And it was the vet who was not hers who agreed to help us help her. He's been vet to all of our dogs ever since, and he's come out for others, too. And we knew it was right, because he wept with us at the end.

I love that photo Wings took of her, above. I love the contrast between her rich black velvet coat and the bright gold carpet of aspen leaves, a shot from this very time of year, probably in 2005 or 2006. It was when she was happiest, too, the cool air most comfortable for her with all that gorgeous long black fur.  And there is not a day that goes by that BearGirl is not in my heart, nor in my thoughts. It would be impossible: All I have to do is walk outside to see the spot where, when the old manufactured home was still here, she loved to lie against the skirting in the sun. That house was far longer than our home now is wide, and so that spot is now open space, but I can still tell you exactly where it is. And so, some forty minutes ago, I did as I always do for all of our animals and I took her water and cedar and tobacco. I put them where we spread her ashes, including a little extra tobacco on her favorite spot in the sun. And I miss her terribly. We both do.

We love you, BearGirl. We always will.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2020; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.