A lifetime of dogs. Is it strange to have containers of dog ashes on the fireplace mantel? And then point out this shrine to visitors? Most likely yes to both.
I was thinking of the first dog in our marriage, a samoyed named Quinn. As he got older, Quinn didn't move around much, his running days well past. We could let him out into the yard without fear that he would leave. Quinn's hearing had also failed, so we would flIp the back light on and off to let him know to come inside. Quinn was also our son's first dog, and I remember his reaction when Quinn passed away, his first real experience with mortality.
Our pet shrine includes (3) of our dogs: Morgan, a Golden Retriever; Sadie, a Yellow Lab; and Jake, a Chocolate Lab. Sadie was a rescue dog, and exceptionally high-strung. She would not do cars, so trips to the vet required two of us to manage. But Sadie turned out to be a great hiker, and we would walk from home to the Ashland Reservoir and spend hours walking the trails.
This is not an episode of "Dogs in Our Lives", but our current housemate is another Chocolate Lab, Otis. A real piece of work. Not very athletic. Has a difficult time with stairs. Otis likes his space, and can sometimes seem aloof and not very affectionate. But this is a facade. Otis is very expressive, and needy. You know where he stands, and our routines seem to be perfectly matched. He loves driving, and is always ready to ride shotgun. Typical Lab, Otis loves to be outside regardless of the weather, walking, laying in the snow, playing with other dogs, although small dogs make him nervous. We have a grand-pup, a designer dog named Morga, named after our Morgan. She is a sweetheart, and most definitely rules when she visits. Otis just finds a quiet place so as not to draw attention.
This reminiscing about our dogs stems from a recent read: "Dog Years - A Memoir". Written by a poet, it is beautiful work. The author, Mark Doty, describes a lifetime of struggles, struggles with loss, with death, with despair, with depression. Most of the writing was done in New York City in the years just after 9/11. The emotional relationships with his dogs helps him to recover a balance, and find a place that allows for understanding and joy in life. The chapters are numbered, but each is followed with short meditations with names such as "On Sentimentality", "On Being a Fool", "Dogs and Their Names", and "Ordinary Happiness".
It can be easy to imbue our dogs with human qualities, but the author does not indulge the reader, and speaks to the human and dog relationships as mutually dependent connections. The last chapter describes the passing of the author's dog, and quotes "The Housedog's Grave", a poem by Robinson Jeffers, written in memory of his dog, in the voice of the dog speaking from his resting place:
"I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now
Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
Except in a kind of dream; and you,
If you dream a moment,
You see me there."
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