When it's Time to Say Goodbye

My dog Raven was meant to be a cat. I adopted her following the worst year of my life, a time when within the span of six short months I lost my long-time canine companion Bandit, then my oldest brother, then my mother. The house seemed too empty, too lonely. Maybe I’ll try getting a cat this time, I thought. I grew up in a dog family; we were never without a dog for long. I liked cats but knew little about keeping them as pets. What the heck, I told myself, try something different, break out of the mold. The search began.

After explaining all this to a rescue group volunteer one spring weekend, she told me about an Australian Shepherd mix available for adoption at another facility. My curiosity got the best of me and I decided to go take a look. When I first met Raven she put her head in my lap, let out a great big sigh, and jumped right into my heart. She was living in my house later that evening. Now what was that about a cat?

I had only the sketchiest details about her: approximately one year old, doesn’t like to ride in cars, gets scared if you try to pick her up, good with kids and cats, they told me. Not a lot to go on, but it sure made things interesting when I stupidly attempted to pick her up because she refused to get in the car on the way home from the adoption center. Over the years she learned to enjoy riding in the car but never, ever let anyone pick her up. We didn’t have kids and as for the part about getting along with cats? Well, not so much, since she blew out her knee chasing a cat down the street, resulting in the purchase of an extremely expensive bionic joint for our wild and crazy girl.

This creature with the mysterious past was right by my side for more than 10 years. Sure, she also had a nutty streak and got into lots of trouble. Often I wondered, what was I thinking, why didn’t I pick a cat instead? A cat would not dig meteor craters in my gardens, would not try to eat the sofa, would not drag a squirrel into the house through the doggy door and take it on a romp through the family room, would not kill innocent birds just stopping by to use the birdbath (well okay, maybe a cat would do that too). But it was all part of the bargain. Before long I realized I had fallen hopelessly in love with yet another dog.

Raven was bigger than Bandit and strong, she liked to play rough. There was this certain posture, this certain look in her eyes when you just knew it was coming. Raven would streak across the yard at lightning speed and body slam you! It was as if we had suddenly been transported into the middle of a mosh pit. This took some getting used to on my part but eventually I learned the best way to play along with those wild and crazy Raven games.

Her seemingly endless quirks and phobias provided an endless source of amusement. We especially enjoyed the way she “smiled” – baring teeth and gums and hissing. It was a little disturbing to outsiders but we explained that it was her way of saying “Oops, sorry, I’m not in trouble am I?”

Raven’s wildness was equally matched by her sweet, loving disposition. As age began to take its toll, she slowed down and eventually became this big black blob curled up next to you, wherever that might be.

We were devastated last Christmas when Raven was diagnosed with canine lymphoma. The prognosis was not good; without chemotherapy maybe a few months at best. Our veterinarian prescribed a steroid that kept the cancer in remission for a while. When it was no longer effective, we stopped the medication and let the cancer run its course. Secretly I hoped she would make it to see another snowfall, the dog that loved making her own peculiar brand of snow angels, the dog that loved to lay on the deck during snowstorms just because it felt so darned good. But it was not to be.

The vet told us many times, you will know when it’s time. And she was right, we knew. One day Raven was hanging out with us, playing with Tonka, digging little holes in the dirt, and the next morning we found her lying outside with a vacant stare, forever lost to the disease.

When it’s time to say goodbye, oh how the heart breaks. Yet I cherish every minute I spent with Raven. Meet you at the Rainbow Bridge someday, my pretty girl.

We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we would still live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan.

~ Irving Townsend – The Once Again Prince

It's a Dog's Life from Deborah French on Vimeo.

Autumn in New England

This past week I have been reminiscing about our last weeklong vacation in October 2006. Autumn in New England ranked high on our wish list. Our timing was not so good. While some trees held onto leaves painted in deep shades of red, gold and orange, many had dropped and were already underfoot. A local resident explained that a few days before our arrival, a severe windstorm had blown through the area. Aside from missing some of the peak autumn colors, the rest of the trip was a success. With the exception of one blustery day on the road from Maine to New Hampshire and Vermont, we were blessed with wonderful autumn weather.

We flew from Denver to New York City where we hopped a small plane to Manchester, New Hampshire, rented a car and drove up the coast. Along the way we stopped in the picturesque city of Portsmouth, then continued on to the town of Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park, where we planned to spend most of our time.

Acadia National Park is home to beautiful, rugged coastlines, the kind synonymous with Maine. We loved exploring the area, touring fishing villages, climbing out onto the granite rocks, and dipping our toes tentatively into the chilly waters along Sand Beach. Within the park is Cadillac Mountain, at 1,530 feet above sea level the tallest mountain on the Atlantic Seaboard. At certain times of the year it is the first place to view sunrise in the United States.

The park has more than 40 miles of carriage roads, built in the early twentieth century for the enjoyment of carriage and horseback riders, hikers, and bicyclists. No motor vehicles are allowed. Roaming through the woods along the carriage roads, we found ourselves alone most of the time. A trail shortcut we discovered took us straight up to the summit of Day Mountain. Although the mountain is less than 600 feet in elevation, the views out to the Cranberry Isles were breathtaking.

Next we packed up and drove across Maine to New Hampshire. We avoided interstates and highways, instead choosing rural, two-lane roads that would take us through small towns where we could see more of New England up close. We lost our way a time or two on the winding roads, some of which did not seem to match the map in my hands. Before long my internal navigation system kicked in and we were on our way.

In New Hampshire we took an exhilarating ride up Mount Washington, the highest peak in the northeast at 6,288 feet. A steep road takes you to the summit. The mountain is covered in clouds more than half the time, including the day we visited. By the time we reached the summit, you could see no more than 100 feet in front of you. The clouds were saturated with water and although it wasn't raining, our hair and clothes were soaked just walking to the summit house. It was about 40 degrees with wind gusts of 45 mph. Needless to say we did not get any photos from the top. Observers on this mountain boast that it is “Home of the World’s Worst Weather,” including the highest wind speed ever recorded: 231 mph.

After spending the night near the state capitol building in Montpelier, Vermont, we drove south through more rural roads, enjoying the quaint little towns and covered bridges. Along the way we stopped in Chelsea, where we found a lovely cemetery situated on a hill above town. We were intrigued by one Civil War grave, that of Captain Orville Bixby of the Second Vermont Volunteer Infantry. He fought in many battles including Bull Run, Williamsburg, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Gettysburg, and was killed at age 29 in the Battle of the Wilderness.

Those rural roads took us to Woodstock, a quaint and historic colonial town in Vermont. We spent most of our time strolling up and down the streets, taking photos of the buildings and homes that were so lovingly preserved. One business owner in town even displayed a colonial flag with thirteen stars at the front entrance.

After Woodstock, we jumped on the interstate and zoomed into Massachusetts for the final leg of the trip. One goal we both have is to set foot in each of the 50 states during our lifetime. I had been to Massachusetts; Dave had not. We crossed the Connecticut River at the French King Bridge and returned to Manchester. Our flight home followed the same route in reverse, so again we were able to savor the sight of New York City from the air.

In two weeks we are venturing to the East Coast again, this time to our nation’s capital then on to southwestern Virginia and Appalachia. This next vacation has been a long time coming and I can’t wait!

Autumn in New England from Deborah French on Vimeo.

Ants in Our Pants

This morning was cool and crisp, a clear sign that autumn is just around the corner. It’s the time of year I love so much. For the first time in I can’t remember how long, I closed the windows to the morning air because it was a bit too chilly. Getting dressed I picked my favorite sweatshirt to wear on my weekly grocery shopping expedition. Dave dug through his drawers and found his cool weather golfing gear.

Our furry friends both had ants in their pants this morning. Actually Tonka has ants in his pants most days, whereas the rest of us seem to suffer from a summertime-induced lethargy. Today the dogs were out bright and early on squirrel patrol in the back yard. Raven was acting like a younger version of herself. Being the hairiest of our hairy beasts, the hot weather has always been a challenge for Raven. This year has been particularly difficult since she is battling canine lymphoma and really struggles to keep herself cool. It was good to see her running the fence line with her younger cohort, trying her darnedest to help vanquish the wayward squirrels.

Since we married our lives have been pretty hectic. Between a house remodel, job layoffs, Dave unexpectedly losing his older brother, burying both our fathers and selling our childhood homes, at times the last seven years seem like a blur. At one point when we could not stray far from home, we made a list of places to tour someday. Now we are slowly working our way through the list. We’ve done a few long weekends here and mini-vacations there. Our last major vacation was three years ago when we spent an autumn in New England.

Autumn is the time of year we prefer to travel. It’s much nicer to visit places after all the little darlings have returned to school, and most of the tourists have packed up and headed home. It’s an especially good time for exploring our home state. The sun is warm and the air is cool, making those day hikes much more pleasant. We haven’t decided where to take our annual hike to see the aspens turning but we have settled on a vacation destination.

Four weeks from today we are heading to our nation’s capital, with a side tour to southwest Virginia. We have been making reservations, consulting vacation guides, even touring the city streets using satellite maps. We are both excited to get away, far away, and experience something that will jolt us out our daily routines. So I guess you could say we have ants in our pants too.

It’s time to start clearing out the gardens. My vegetable garden was a bust this year anyway, what with the crazy weather we had this spring and early summer. I’m ready to put away the gardening tools, ready for some football games, ready to start pulling out the warm and snuggly clothes, ready to fluff up an extra blanket for the bed. And I’m so ready to get on that plane and head east!

Only the Heart May Know

Silent sea
Tell this to me:
Where are the children that we used to be?

So begins a favorite song by Dan Fogelberg, the song Dave and I chose for our wedding dance. The words were especially meaningful for two people marrying for the first time in their mid forties.

After not dating for a long time, about ten years ago I decided to dip my toes tentatively back into the water. Dave was one of the fellows who responded to a personal ad I placed online. I met several nice men, and found no fault with any of them. But while I enjoyed the companionship, the conversations, the movies, the dinners, otherwise I felt nothing. I wondered if something was wrong with me. Maybe I had waited too long, maybe the bloom was permanently off the rose.

Then along came Dave. We planned to meet at a restaurant in west Denver on a snowy evening in March, the first day of spring. Because of the weather, I was certain he wouldn’t show. But there he was, waiting for me. I did most of the talking that night and Dave listened to my ramblings as if every word was more important than the last. We made plans for a second date to see a movie. In the theater, Dave put his arm around my shoulder and instantly I felt that schoolgirl sensation of butterflies, something I had not known for ages. It turned out that my autumn rose was still capable of producing a bloom.

After about a year we began to talk about making a commitment. Even though we were nearly inseparable, we maintained distinct and solitary lives. We shared some of the same misgivings. Here were two people, never married, accustomed to solitude, set in our ways. Would it even work? At last we both felt ready to make that leap, to leave our solitary paths and head down a new trail together. A custom ring was created with the diamond from my mother’s engagement ring, surrounded by sapphires, Dave’s birthstone. We were engaged on Valentine’s Day.

I had long carried with me a young girl’s dream to marry in a mountain meadow somewhere, flowers in my hair, perhaps some native wildlife serving as silent witnesses. That was certainly not going to work now. My brother and a cousin schemed to turn this occasion into a reunion of sorts, a chance for our family to see each other for a reason other than a funeral. Most of the people attending were from far away, and many were elderly or disabled. So instead of the meadow, we opted for a more traditional event at an all-inclusive wedding site in Genesee.

Dave set about creating unique invitations while I wrote a personal ceremony, something from the heart that conveyed the importance of this crossroads in our lives. We both worried about speaking in front of a crowd. As the list of participants grew, Dave’s only request was that I keep the words we would say to a minimum. Keeping my promise, the vows were short and sweet.

Both of us are similar in nature, quiet, shy, reserved. Fortunately we complement each other in different ways, a combination of strengths and weaknesses that create a harmonious blend of individual traits. Where I am too emotional, sensitive and stubborn with a tendency to overreact, Dave is calm, rational, patient. Where Dave is prone to forgetfulness and procrastination, I am organized and driven to accomplish something first, relax later.

We continue to learn how to share our lives without overtaking one another, without losing the essence of who we are. And although I was perfectly happy living alone, now I find the muffled sounds and constant presence of another person in the house to be so comforting. Especially when that presence is Dave.

It has been seven years and I love him more than ever, more than I realized you could love another. Sometimes I regret that we didn’t meet while we were still young enough to have a family of our own. Then again, if we were not yet mature, without a lifetime of experiences to ground us, would our hearts have known what we had found?

Our wedding from Deborah French on Vimeo.