When our dog Gunnar died, I had loved him so much, I felt a part of me would die too. And I think a little of me did. While cancer was destorying him, I was doing all I could to save him. I was relentless and desperate.
The day he couldn't get out of the back of my old 4 Runner, I laid down by our back gate in the alley. Not caring how I looked. I just curled up in the dirt in my pajamas sobbing. I didn't want to put him down. I couldn't bear to lose him.
My mother in law found me laying there in that odd hard place and asked what on earth I was doing? I was crying, grieving, stalling, resenting cancer, aging and death.However, laying in that hard place hardly matched my deep sorrow.
After Gunnar died, I was in no hurry or desire to get another dog, but the rest of the family was. Of course, now I am very glad they were, as our Cisco, turned out to be such a great amazing dog to the whole family. He wasn't like Gunnar. He didn't take away his place, but he filled a deep and painful loss with endless joy and happy times we still have with him.
Sweet Cisco had been abandoned and dumped at two different places before 3 months old. His whole tender adoption by our two little sons, at the time, is another precious story. I take no credit, as I was digging in my heels all the way until he came to be in our family. He was and still is delightful and amazing.
Eleven years later, sweet Cisco, is still my daily walking buddy. My landscape companion and my sons dearest friend. He is a dear part of our family. We can't imagine life without him.
He was born in a hard place. Dumped in hard places. And filled the sad, hard place Gunnar's death had left. Many priceless gifts he has given us. Making my life softer. Giving us gifts in our hard places over and over again.
Artist & Storyteller
"The grass fadeth and the flower, but the word of our God shall stand forever." -Isaiah 40:8