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Why We Love Dogs (A Little Something in Celebration of National Dog Day)
joy is a hero
with fur
and eyes that see
past human skin
and a wild heart
that tames us
Patricia Joan Jones
joy is a hero
with fur
and eyes that see
past human skin
and a wild heart
that tames us
Patricia Joan Jones
Although this is one of the
Although this is one of the shortest poems that I have read from Patricia, it is just as full of her signature style---which, were I too sum it up (with my present understanding of it), is to find the spiritual meaning in natural phenomenon. The Gates of Orion and Councils of Stars provide her a venue for this; and now, she brings her particularly poetic insight to the subject of Beloved Pets.
She defines what the joy of a pet is, and how we understand, by instinct long possessed among our species, that our pet canines see beyond our skin, and the circumstances of our situations (by which we too often judge or criticize our fellow human beings; something a domestic dog will not do). And the dog's wild heart not only tames us, but becomes fiercely protective of us, and wildly glad to greet us when we return after an absence.
In February, 1972, I was given a Cocker Spaniel pup that I named Monica. She lived until May, 1986. The bond between us was deep, unshakeable, and---to me---comforting. Unlike my parents, she did not castigate me for my failing. Unlike my classmates, she did not make jest of me for my appearance, or for whom my nature was inclined to love. When I was in a good mood, she liked to romp around, chase a ball, stuff like that. But when I was sad, or frustrated (two almost constant aspects of my adolescence), she discerned that almost immediately and would not leave my side, not even to chase a ball or collect a doggy treat. Her wild heart tamed my clumsy and awkward rages, or my sad realization that (until 1976) whomever I loved, or had a crush on, would be unresponsive or even dismissive. Monica, even in her extreme old age, was never unresponsive or dismissive. When she passed, I wept uncontrolably for days. I never thought I would see her like again (and I have most always dwelt with dogs) until a rescued chihuahua pup, whom we named Zoey, entered my life in 2010. Zoey has the same discernment Monica had; much the same personality; and is able to discern when I am seriously ill, even before I realize that. (She also could see the ghost that supposedly haunted the second residence we shared with Zoey, although that is another story.
I have said all that to say this. I admire this poem of Patricia's very much, as much of her more cosmic poems, and for the same reason: she is the classical kind of Poet, like the Alexandrian Poets or their successors, the Roman Neoterics, who explained things poetically. The Cosmos uses these highly literate interpreters to explain itself to us, and thus, through us, explain itself to itself. And when one of our planet's fur-heroes, with eyes of discernment that see past circumstances into our souls, wins our hearts and, in its way, offers us its own Love, the Cosmos finds a fulfillment. Massive, distamt stars fuse hdrogen into light and warmth, but to us, and to our pets, is given the privilege and responsibility to love; and, thus loving, to bring the Cosmos a little nearer to its ultimate destiny. And in declaring---explaining---reminding us of this, Patricia participates in guiding the Cosmos to its ultimate destiny and understanding.
This is a magnificent poem, and a worthy addition to Patricia's collection.
J-Called
First, I want to express my
First, I want to express my concern about your close call that, thank God, was resolved before you had to go to the ER. If it happens again, you'll know what to do, so I'm sure everything will be OK. My prayers for your peace of mind.
Wow! You wholeheartedly captured my intentions in this deep, generous and intricate review. I can't describe the immense pleasure of your deconstructions that provide confirmation as well as encouragement.
It's also deeply gratifying that my work brought back precious memories of your own canine BFF. The way you described Monica was so precious and heart-melting. Really had me choked up. Thank you for introducing me to those beautiful, beautiful souls that touched your life and still bring you joy today.
I also wanted to cry when I read your own definition of our fur babies' collective mission in life :
"Massive, distant stars fuse hydrogen into light and warmth, but to us, and to our pets, is given the privilege and responsibility to love; and, thus loving, to bring the Cosmos a little nearer to its ultimate destiny."
That's epic, my friend. And so is the value of your steadfast support. God bless you.
Thank you for that, and for
Thank you for that, and for the mention of Monica. When she was euthanized, I received the news at work from my retired parents with whom Monica still lived. My emotions went into a shock, and I was like a zombie. A couple of weeks later, while out for a walk with my then spoiuse, I burst into tears, uncontrollable tears. My parents were so broken up by it that they eventually purchased another Cocker pup, who outlived my dad, yet passed away from cancer just prior to my mom. The dog's ashes were placed into my mother's casket before the lid was closed and locked. When Zoey's time comes, her ashes will be placed with whichever of us is the last survivor.
I thank you, also, for your compliment about the cosmic aspect of our pets' love.
Forgive me for closing with one more story about Monica. In spring, 1983, I had been promoted to Senior Assistant Manager of my branch of the financial corporation that, then, employed me. I was a little arrogant about my new position. Then I was notified, by the vet that had known me all my life, that Monica had developed a tumor, biopsied as cancer, in her stomach. It could be felt by palpatation, but did not seem to cause her any pain. Her appetite and "athletic" ability when bouncing about my parents' backyard were not affected. The vet suggested euthanasia. I pointed out to him that the absence of pain, no loss of appetite, and no loss of energy seemed to me to be reasons to avoid that decision for the time being. He said she would not last six months, and she would either feel huge pain, or begin to waste away. I told him, then when these symptoms present, we can proceed to the next step. That was in June of 1983. Monica lived until May, of 1986, with no loss of appetite, and only a slight slow-down (after all, she had turned fourteen in January 1986). On the fateful morning, she tried to stretch out on the patio, on her stomach, and let out a yelp of pain. My father knew that the time had come. Monica was buried in a common grave in a pet cemetery, but its management sent me a written statement that her remains had been covered in a blanket and gently placed in the grave, not tossed in, and the grave was then closed. The vet would have taken her last three years away, had I not objected. But in the face of all that she had given me, through those fourteen years of her life, what I gave her in 1983 was but a small fraction. I have never stopped loving her. I believe that she, and Zoey, will be together in Heaven; and that, when my time comes, I will meet them there as if we had never parted.
J-Called
It would have been tragic to
It would have been tragic to lose those three precious years. You did the right thing, and you're absolutely right: you will meet your furry loved ones on the other side, in your true home. There are moving accounts of near-death experiencers seeing their beloved pets in heavenly realms, plus the fact that we just know by looking into their eyes that they have souls, that give us wonderful reassurance we'll meet them again.
The grieving process after losing an animal companion is not unlike losing any human loved one; it's just as traumatic. Your story was heartbreaking, but also insightful and inspiring. Thank you for sharing.
And thanks for allowing me to
And thanks for allowing me to take up comment space with my elaborate tales about Monica.
J-Called