Saying Goodbye to May by Sara Wright

Friday night’s dream alarmed me. I had already lost two dogs, and the dream told me that I had lost three. Was my present beloved animal companion at risk?

The weekend passed with increasing heat and dryness and a strange escalating depression that dominated the atmosphere around me. This, with so much astonishing autumn beauty on my doorstep.

Maybe this mood was why I was having so much trouble completing an essay (The Doorway) that when done would finish a heartbreaking odyssey that began last December 24^th when my beloved Hope almost died from heart failure. Eight months later Hope was dead. With Lucy’s death five weeks later, I was left dogless and bereft – except for the help from a couple of friends and May, a 15 -year – old Springer Spaniel who had stolen my heart months before when I first met her.

Instant recognition characterized our first meeting – woman and dog – linked through that mysterious animal thread that was grounded in deep compassion.

 I loved May before I knew her. I had learned over a lifetime living with, among, and around animals and plants wild and tame to trust these instant connections. May loved me too.

When my little two-pound fluffball arrived, May became her first dog friend (along with May’s caregiver). Coalie was shy and incredibly sensitive, but she was able to relax around May and her Dad … A friendship began and deepened.

The last time I visited about ten days ago, May’s Dad was about to start a new job. Privately, I worried about May because she was so attached to her primary caregiver, even as I watched with the same joy the dynamics of that special three – way relationship reoccurring before my eyes. Coalie sat in Dad’s lap and May, whose back legs made it difficult to get up, would immediately amble over, uttering sounds that made it clear she was anxious to be included.

During each encounter the two dogs went nose to nose. May loved Coalie and wanted to mother her but she also needed Dad’s attention so after a few minutes I would scoop Coalie up so May could reestablish herself as top contender with the man she loved the most! As soon as Coalie was back on the floor she sniffed and snuffled her way around their house as if she owned the place.

 May taught Coalie that she did not have to be afraid of large dogs, that some were gentle and sweet like she was. Up until that point my other small canines were bullied by people who were bullies themselves. My gratitude towards these friends and their dog knows no bounds.

This unique and loving friendship between the dogs ended suddenly with May’s death which occurred a little more than two months after Coalie and May first met.

I learned yesterday in passing that May was dead. Just that morning I had suggested in the first conversation that the couple bring May down here to walk because it was so hot.

I had no idea…

Stunned by an enormous wave of grief, I ended this second seemingly bizarre conversation in shock.

Shock and grief. A flood of tears.

Incomprehension too.

I need to walk, to be present to the rest of nature when I am upset but last afternoon’s late meander didn’t help. On impulse Coalie and I then drove up Moody Mountain to watch the sunset. I was walking on air – struggling – How to say goodbye?  I didn’t even know the ending.

I slept poorly, if at all. This morning, I checked my dreams that often hold messages that I miss initially. That’s when I learned that May had probably been euthanized Friday night.

I think May would have liked Coalie and me to be informed that she was leaving us.

I don’t know why I was not told. But I am aware that people deal with grief in a myriad of ways.

 I also realized that I needed to create a little ceremony to help me ground May’s leave -taking in action. Watching a sunset simply wasn’t enough.

 We left the house early this morning because another heatwave was on the way. I let nature guide me as she always does as we walked through cool wooded forest.

And suddenly I knew. I would pick up a milkweed pod that had just opened, bring it home and nestle the offering on red oak leaves. As soon as I did this a few wisps rose into the air on gossamer threads. I thought about May’s life. May her gentle ways and compassionate nature live on to seed the future with the kind of love this animal embodied. I had done what I could to send her on her way.

 I continue to feel deep concern for May’s primary caretaker and by extension for the entire family (at this moment a woodpecker is drilling a deep hole in the side of the house describing through actions just how I feel).

When I finally finished writing The Doorway yesterday,I thought I had circled round to the end of this year’s grief. Then news of May’s death intervened.

 What I see now is that I did complete that circle. Someone in me knew I had lost another beloved.

I wonder if Coalie knows too…