A Game of Fetch

When I was young I brought a dog home.

I was walking from grammar school and a family was giving away puppies – (sounds odd but this is not fake news, merely childhood).

Anyway, I found it completely normal at the ripe age of 9 to take the hound with me and hope for the best.

Well, it did not quite pan out the way I anticipated.

This was the first canine to be vetoed. In hindsight, my parents, (more accurately defined – mom), made the correct choice. She knew the timing did not fit.

Fast forward – by 12 we had our first true pet. Thanks to my aunt, my family was the proud owner of an English Springer Spaniel.

I could easily drone on about the aforementioned family’s best friend, as well as the two who postdated her, (and may do so in another blog). However, a few short weeks will mark the anniversary of the death of the dog who changed me.

Fetch!

The first ball is thrown – it was when she came home to live. From day one Lola – (named by my daughter after the 162 other options under consideration had been dismissed) – was beyond the proverbial handful. She was a terror. And I must stress this – a horror much like Conrad describes in ‘Heart of Darkness’ simply as the “horror, the horror.”

In fairness, she was a rescue who had been through an ordeal during the first three-plus months of existence. Her first vet visit revealed she had three kinds of worms. Fortunately, all were treatable, but it did leave her with lifelong stomach issues. Her diet was restricted to mostly insipid dog food; however, she certainly enjoyed her share of pizza crust, (that was her favorite). And, luckily for Lola, we consumed significant quantities of pies through her years.

Fetch!

The second ball is thrown – we had weathered ‘Hurricane Lola’, which lasted approximately 12 months. The first year was arduous; highlights included her attempting to eat a cornucopia of couch cushions, her decision to remove the stitches from her spaying procedure, accidents-accidents-accidents in every and any and every again room of the house, digging to China, unceasing whimpering, and my patience not merely wearing thin but instead the fabric of sanity almost completely eroding.

Yet once we emerged from ‘Cyclone Beagle/Lab/Breeds Unknown’ — the calm immeasurably outweighed the storm. Lola was here to stay – and we were the blessed ones for this miracle.

Fetch!

The third ball is thrown – as time progressed our dog’s relationship to everyone but me evolved into a harmonious symphony of acceptance. It took me far too long to comprehend the complexity of our connection. Too often it was a dark and stormy misunderstanding.

Lola’s willfulness was only matched by my own uncompromising assessment of her. I wanted her to be the perfect pooch. Never fully acknowledging precisely how she had become just that.

You see, we were around one another 24/7/12. I was employed remotely when it was simply known as working from home. So, Lola and I grew up together. Of course, she matured much faster than me.

When we had the annual Christmas party it was just her and I. Selecting the song list was easy. Lola only cared for traditional carols. A no-frills menu followed – pizza as previously discussed with extra crust. Tomfooleries ensued but they were harmless, usually consisting of activities involving an object being hurled into the heavens and retrieved with resolution.

Fetch!

The fourth ball is thrown – as the years passed, Lola embraced her role as a provider. She supplied random acts of kindness, (of course to dogs these are merely referred to as their daily routine), permanent laughter, and the protection of a blanket stitched together through idiosyncratic love.

Her spirit was borne of wisdom. Lola adored those who trusted her. This may sound exaggerated to some, but if you have ever been fortunate enough to bask in the sincere presence of a dog, then you know this feeling of peace and comfort. You understand the unique qualities of exuberance they exemplify. The discerning pup does not merely love unconditionally, her profound loyalty alters your capability to care.

The measurement of a beings existence in your life is only completely comprehended after they are no longer present. Many believe death is not the end. I will not deny, nor can I confirm the accuracy of this philosophy. What I do know is too often the magnitude of their absence is unbearable.

Fetch!

Autumn arrived and along with the majesty of color, the briskness of the first sub-40-degree morn, and the smell of amber-hued fireplaces came the final ball retrieval.

Lola slowed down last fall. Her body began to betray her character. She valiantly strolled through the house she had inhabited, for more than 13 and a half years. She still participated in the shenanigans which defined her essence. She endured an unforgiving northeast winter for those with old bones and dreams of the summer wind.

Late, on a standard spring evening, I said my customary goodnight to her. She had the most expressive eyes and quite often she would gaze off into a distance unknown. Perhaps there were memories of being in the wild and howling at the black horizon. Maybe she saw the images of those who roamed before, in the glow of her fireplace.

On this twilight, her eyes seemed weary and pleading. In hindsight, I realize they were appreciative.

Lola passed sometime around midnight – in her bed, in her kitchen, in her home. We gathered around her to acknowledge, to weep, to say goodbye, and most importantly to reflect.

It has been said evidence of a life well lived is found in those who remember you. The legacy of Lola’s love is around me at all times. And that is all that is needed.

Thank You “Loli”!