Bill and I finally scattered Molly’s ashes in the garden a few weeks ago. They’d been sitting in the small tin box decorated with flowers, provided by the SPCA which I placed on the mantle last November after she passed away. We could have done it sooner but I just wasn’t ready to let her go. I’m not sure I was ready on that lovely spring afternoon either. I was teary. I wanted her to come back. But the freshly planted garden was ready to receive her and she is out in the sunshine, with birds singing praises as they themselves bring forth new life.
Despite the way it might sound I’m fine. I miss her terribly, but I’m happy and thriving, still full of wonder at what beauty life presents me on a daily basis.
Sam, who I thought would be deeply effected by Molly’s loss was not his usual self for about a month after she died. But now he’s a new dog, full of himself instead of being Molly’s shadow. He had always been her protector. Out on the street he’d snarl and threaten any other dog that might be in interested in his one and only. At doggie daycare where we sent them together once a week to socialize, he’d stick close to her, never letting her out of his site. He’s now Mr. Popularity every Thursday when he still goes to All Things Pawssable and welcomes newcomers into the pack of “tots” or small dogs he hangs out with. He comes home exhausted, but still has enough energy for Tug of War or Let’s Chase Cats Around The House. When Molly was still alive, he’d come home and crash, totally exhausted from being Molly’s body-guard all day.
Recently we were asked to take in another small dog who needs a loving home. But we’ve decided that we can’t. Sam is so happy that I don’t want to rock his boat. After Molly left, he found his way onto the foot of our bed at night and we’re enjoying having him with us. But two dogs on the bed is way too much even though they’re small. Sam would have to return to his cozy small bed on the floor, which apparently isn’t as cozy as sleeping with us.
Now I’m keeping an eye on felines Cleo and Peppermint. Two years ago we were told that Cleo would be gone in just a few months, but she’s hung in there with us. She’s not looking so good right now and knowing she’s about seventeen years old, I’m not holding my breath. Pepper is on prednisone for some sort of brain lesion. I have no idea how long she’ll be with us.
Life moves along as it usually does. There will be more losses and the thought of my own passing leaves me with one of the only real truths … nothing lasts forever.