Elodie
Always alert
Always running
Always in the lead...
You are
Never relaxed
Never content
Never fully trusting you’re secure...
You are
We feed you
House you
Dress your constant wounds
Take you to see new things
Buy toys you shred
Buy treats that last only minutes
To see you smile
To see your tail wag
To see you’re aware that you’re loved...
You are
Too curious, too adventurous
Too anxious to explore
You are
Too trusting, too naive
Too sheltered from the outside world
You are
Gone now
Across the Rainbow Bridge
You are
I was out of town when I received word that she had escaped the person who was dog sitting for us. She had been gone for two hours before they found her down the street. I was told she was very much alert and happy to be back with them, but then her condition quickly deteriorated. She had passed just minutes before arriving at the vet's office.
I received the news as I pulled up to my hotel in Birmingham, Alabama (4 hours away) to check in. And I needed a moment I never thought I'd need.
Elodie was a great dog. She was protective, silly, and always up for a romp. But I didn't know I had the depth of feelings for her that I apparently showed. I cried for a few hours before going to the conference I was traveling for. Every commercial on the television screen seemed to show dogs and their people. Every billboard along the route to the conference location seemed to show dogs and their people. And just when I thought I was over it, people were outside the hotel with their dogs taking potty breaks...and the tears came back again.
It's not easy to lose a pet. Some people roll their eyes at the emotions people have for animals, but at the end of the day, grief is still grief. Pets may not be humans, but because we are humans we love. Pets are among our loved ones. They see us at our best and our worst. They listen to us as we complain about our days, tell them our secrets, and sing in the shower.
To be perfectly honest, Elodie got on my nerves. A lot. Because she was all the qualities I'd ever wanted in a dog, being "Elodie" was what was irritating and endearing about her. And I think that was why I was responding in a manner I'd not thought possible upon news of her death. I also knew things would be very different when I made it back home, but I didn't know just how different it would be without her. I didn't know just how much of my life included her.
We spent an hour a day walking or jogging in the mornings, rain or shine. When I come up for air from behind my computer desk during the day, Elodie and I spent time together outside on the tailgate of the farm truck. I ran new ideas by her. I sang songs to her I hadn't written onto staff paper yet. I complained to her and ranted about the news headlines I'd seen that day. It was very difficult the first few mornings back as I woke up and had to walk alone. I have stopped going the route I used to go with her because it just isn't the same. I don't even go to the same pet store anymore because I remember every place Elodie stopped to sniff the toys and treats that were placed just at puppy eye level.
Healthy grief is taking time to process your feelings. My daughter found another Labradoodle who looks identical to Elodie, although this one is a lot younger. I wasn't ready to lay claim to her, so my daughter has adopted Lily for herself. I have to tell you, while I'm not ready to interact with Lily, seeing virtually a young clone of Elodie is fascinating. It's like reliving the happy parts of her existence (without the attachment). Is this weird? Probably. But knowing Lily is loved, even if not by me, kind of makes it okay in my mind. She gets plenty of attention among the other dogs we have (the Labradoodle in her commands attention), but a part of me hangs back. I'm still getting over not having Elodie here, but in an odd way, it's like she never left.
