Just over fifteen years ago, Kira came into my life. I was in my last year of massage therapy school in New York, and just entering into what would become a long and difficult divorce. My ex-husband was allergic to dogs. And so my first declaration of independence was to get a puppy.
I had wanted to adopt a shelter dog, but when I applied to the shelter, I was told that adoptees who were getting divorced were not proven to be responsible pet owners and most dogs adopted by people in my position were eventually returned to the shelter.
I assured them I was not that person. I assured them this dog would have a wonderful life and be part of my family forever. I had a beautiful fenced yard. And I had references.
I was still denied.
I would not give in though, and with the help of friends, I made my way to a reputable breeder. I visited his home and met the three puppies that were available. I was standing in the middle of the finished basement, holding a tiny and timid apricot cockerpoo, about to choose him as my new friend, when his larger buff colored sister gracelessly charged across the long room, crashed into my feet and gripped her paws around my right ankle. She would not let go.
The breeder said to me, “You might want this one, but that one wants you.”
And so I gently put the apricot pup down and picked up the buff colored pup. I fell in love with her boldness. She made me laugh. And for some reason, she seemed to have a great fascination with me. She melted me.
I brought her home weeks later, after she was weaned. She howled like a beast into the night. As I tossed and turned, I marveled at how anything so tiny could make a sound so large. Within hours, she was sleeping in bed with me and settled right down. And that’s how it always went with Kira. When she dissented, you knew it. And you learned to do it her way. And over the years, it’s worked out just fine.
She was headstrong. We attended puppy kindergarten and failed miserably. The instructor told me the treat held no power over her because people intrigued her more than the reward. What is a puppy parent to do, but embrace the uniqueness of their four legged child? We skipped the advanced training class. We’d figure it out on our own. And so we drove back home into the dark December night.
But Kira was quite smart. Brilliant, really. So long as it was something she cared to learn. She understood commands in three languages. And then she took up learning hand commands. Within days she learned how to ring the bell I hung on the back door when she needed to go out. She took to housebreaking like a champ. And she could howl out sounds that were clearly words to anyone who understood the soul of a dog. She loved to learn so long as the learning was fun. She loved to please. And she loved to hear me laugh. I didn’t have cable TV for nearly a year because Kira occupied my every leisure hour. Nothing on cable could compete with her. And on days when the drudgery of divorce litigation beat my spirit into the dirt, Kira was the reason I’d get up in the morning. Because if I didn’t take her out and feed her, no one else was going to. She gave me purpose. And confidence that if I could be responsible for the wellbeing of a 20 pound dog, just maybe there was a chance I’d come out of this divorce okay too.
I can have something of a snarky sense of humor, and so when I would introduce Kira to people, I would tell them she was the four legged dog who replaced the two legged dog, but she was much smarter, more affectionate, and far more loyal.
But the truth was, despite my smart mouth, Kira came into my life to teach me about love.
As new relationships presented themselves, in hindsight, I realize now she was giving me her feedback on each of them. One would play with her and rile her up so she didn’t settle down to sleep for hours. Another would spoil her rotten and make it difficult to get her back to a routine for days. At the time, I hadn’t realized she was trying to tell me they were lovely distractions, but none of them was “the one.”
Kira is fifteen now. Her body is frail and tired. But her spirit has been strong, despite her failing body. She has been in congestive heart failure for well over two years. Soon after that diagnosis, she lost her hearing. In the past year, she’s lost almost half her weight. And she’s lost almost all her hair. In recent months she developed a steady and hacking nighttime cough that is the telltale sign of fluids filling the lungs. But the hardest thing in recent days has been the dim look in her eyes from oxygen not reaching her brain. Even after she lost her hearing, we’d communicate through hand signals and she would demonstrate that she was still eager to learn. As hypoxia began to set in though, learning came harder. And it seemed to make her nervous. She seemed to know I wanted her to do certain things, but she couldn’t recall what they were. If I left the room, I would find her anxiously searching the house to find me. Her eyes took on a disturbingly vacant look this past Saturday morning. And I could see fear in her eyes for the first time. It killed me.
Anyone who knew Kira knew hands down that she was fearless.
When a dog comes into your life, they bring untold joy. But you know too that one day they will leave and they will rip your heart in two. And so when Kira came into my life, I knew the responsibility would one day fall to me to make that hard decision when she was having more bad days than good days. I have been watching her closely and waiting for her to tell me. In the last few days she has. This Thursday, on the eve of the new moon, which speaks to new beginnings, we will be visiting our holistic vet across town where Kira will begin her next journey and be freed of the body that limits her, along with the panic that consumes her. It is the heartache I must step into in exchange for all the love and caring she has given me over fifteen years.
Since early this year, I have had an awareness that Kira came into my life when love disappointed me. And that she was getting ready to say goodbye because she knew she had already taught me what to notice when it was time for a real and lasting love to enter my life. Here are some things I suspect she’d want me to remember when that love shows up:
- Remember to always be yourself and find someone who thinks that’s an awesome idea.
- Be bold. Be fearless. And don’t be shy about claiming the things you want in life.
- Make sure you find someone who lights up your world and that you find them more interesting than the best treats.
- Never quit learning, but remember to have fun while you’re doing it. (And never waste time learning silly useless things that you’re too smart for).
- Find someone who is fun and interesting enough to make you not care if you own a TV.
- Make sure he spoils you, but not so much that you become complacent. Remember to spoil him too.
- Make sure you really like the sound of his laugh.
- And make sure something about your crazy heart makes him laugh often.
- Never get tired of seeing his smile.
- Remember that being timid and easy going are overrated and the good stuff happens to people who know they deserve it.
- Love him no matter what. And make sure he loves you no matter what.
- Sometimes howling like a beast is a good idea when no one is listening to what you know you need.
- Be patient with each other when you grow old.
- And when it’s time to say goodbye, know you have loved each other with all your heart and that that kind of love will never end.
Blessings and peace on your journey, my sweet Kira. You have been an awesome girl. And an outstanding teacher. I love you!
©Maria Grace Mandarino
October 16, 2017