On a Tuesday afternoon on March 19, 2012 I held you in my arms for the first time, and I was in love with you. It wasn’t just the way you felt as you rested your head on my shoulder, or the sweet smell of your carefully chosen, organic cherry blossom shampoo; I had been in love with the idea of you for longer than I could remember. You were a puppy, and I was, for the first time in my life, a mommy. That was 3 and a half years ago.
I had chosen the name Mabel for a couple of reasons, primarily because it was vintage and adorable but also because of it’s meaning- lovable. And you were just that, there is no disputing it. Even then, when your sharp teeth were the cause of more than a few scars and your early morning energy bursts had me up at 5:30 every morning. At the time I may have said differently, but deep down I really didn’t mind. I had just turned 16, and winter was over. The loneliness I had felt after the loss of my dog Gigi was easier to bear with your presence, and you made me smile every day.
Through the Summer of 2012 your eyes were green and soft, they twinkled in the early morning sunlight that you often basked in as well as the twilight. Sometimes, in the event that you refused to come inside after a long day of exploring in the grass, even the moonlight could make them gleam. I would chase you around the yard with purpose at first, but as you began to slow down I would too, because I wanted to savor the image of you beneath the stars. There was a twinkle in your eye that was unmistakable, especially when you were playing like that. As you got older it never went away, and I never failed to notice it, the way you would make such sincere eye contact with me when we were together. Thank you for that, baby; it’s one of the things I miss most.
That first year was not without it’s share of accidents and miniature emergencies; your affinity for ceaseless exploration led you into a few dangerous situations. You ate anything in sight. That included tubs of butter and cool whip left too close to the edge of the counter, as well as a plethora of toxic plants in our garden. We ended up getting rid of them when we found out how fond of them you were, but not before we took you to the hospital for a precautionary stomach pumping one summer day. I’m sorry you had to go through that; I just wasn’t about to take any chances. You meant too much to me, to all of us. You were our best friend.
After evening walks around the neighborhood, where you would roll onto your back for any stranger that approached, we would return home exhausted by the hot, setting sun. I loved the way you smiled when you panted, and the way you licked your light brown nose just to keep it cool. The fun really began when me and your other mommy, my mommy, brought you home a pink plastic pool from Walmart. You would lay in it as we filled it up, and then splash in and out of it in a fury of excitement, never failing to jump on us and leave muddy paw prints on our clothes. We didn’t care; no, we cherished it. You were a water dog after all, with webbed feet and red fur that curled when it was wet, and you made sure everybody knew it.
You were meant to go swimming in lakes and streams, you were meant to go on trail runs and camping trips. I’m sorry we never made it that far; every time I see a calm, empty pond or stream I picture you in it, rolling around and swimming out just deep enough to reach a stick that I might have thrown. We tried it; we got you a life jacket and everything, but I guess we didn’t try hard enough. I didn’t trust you to come back to me when I called, so I didn’t want to give you the freedom of being off leash. I guess we’ll never know how well you might have done.
Puppy school was not your forte, but you were a star student in the personality department, and nothing short of the class clown. There was not a mean bone in your body. Not unlike other border collie mixes, you could not contain your excitement when new people came to the house, and it was always a hassle to keep you from jumping up on them. A hassle, however, that I was proud to partake in, because you were just like me. You were wild, Mabel, and even though you had to be kept on a leash, I’d like to think you felt free.
You acted that way anyway, as you began to grow into a teenager. You transitioned from your puppy collar to your sunflower collar, the one that matched my tattoo so that we could be twins. And so began your adolescent year- the one filled with ripped up couch cushions and tipped over laundry baskets, in which you would hide your rawhide bones when you thought nobody was looking.
By that time your eyes were a rich gold, with a bright outer ring that I can’t even describe. The patch of white fur on your chest was now only a handful of out of place hairs hidden inside your shiny amber coat. Your tail was fluffy and so were your soft, velvety ears. You were breath taking, I hope you knew it, too. When you would roll on the floor in an expectant upturned pose, I was given no choice but to give in to your cuteness and give you a belly rub. That’s when I would whisper in your ear, as if it was some sort of secret, just how truly beautiful you were. God, you must have heard me.
In the winter you became a snow dog, and you would perch on the back porch in a snow drift throne, watching the forest and letting the snowflakes fall into your vibrant hair. Your walks were shorter then, but you seemed to make the most of them. I wish I had walked you further, sweet girl, and I wish I had joined you out there in the snow. You seemed to know something I didn’t, you seemed to see something out there in the woods that nobody else could see. This year when it snows I will be out there, I promise, and I will be looking into the forest like you did, and I’m sure I’ll see you. It wouldn’t be a surprise; these days, everywhere I look I can picture your big, furry body, healthy and alive.
Sometimes at night I would hear your nose against my door, just checking to see if you could push it open. When you couldn’t, you would sneak around the side of the house and stick your nose out of your doggy door, letting all of the cool air inside without a care in the world. I know, because I would spy on you out of my bedroom window, when I was sure you were going outside to wake the whole neighborhood up with your barking or chase off an evil squirrel. It was a relief to see you like that, so peaceful and calm, with the heat of the house keeping your body warm but the aroma of the outdoors keeping your nose occupied. Or maybe it was your body that was keeping the house warm but either way, you had it all figured out, didn’t you?
I would rarely let you inside my room but when I did, you made yourself right at home. You didn’t like to sleep on a bed though; you preferred the cold tile floor in front of the fire place, where you were close enough to the big front window to catch the sunrise every morning. It rose for you, baby girl, and it still does, every day. But you don’t rise for us anymore. You went to sleep, and you never woke up.
The highlight of this last year was the contemplative walks we took almost every evening. You would spot me as I rounded the corner down the street at the end of a run, and be waiting for me expectantly when I came home exhausted and out of breath. For the first few blocks you would pull me along, as I tried to catch my breath with every step. Eventually our walks turned into a way for us to escape together, and you would be lost in the smells of the world in the same way that I would get lost in the music on my iPod. We were in the zone, you and me, but we were never alone. Every so often you would look back at me with those heavenly eyes, and I would smile. We were a team Mabel, and we owned that neighborhood. I miss you.
When I went away on my bike trip I was bragging you up a storm, and missing you more than I ever thought I would. Coming home to you was one of the only things that kept me from getting pulled into that post-trip let down that I had been warned about. With you I had something to look forward to every day.
I’m so sorry you never got to come home again after we took you to the hospital on May 7th, but we were all so sure that the veterinarians would be able to make you better. I’m sorry it took me so long to notice how sick you were, and I’m sorry I didn’t spend the night with you when you were too dehydrated to come home. I’m sorry for whatever made you sick, whether it was weed killers or kidney disease or something else that you got into. And I’m sorry we couldn’t save you Mabel, I’m sorry there wasn’t more we could do. I would give anything to hold onto you for 10 seconds more, but on the evening of May 9th I was more desperate to end your suffering than I was to have you with me. Thank you for holding on long enough for me to be there when it happened.
The house is so different without you in it. Summer has come, and the garden is blooming, and the seeds we sprinkled on your grave have already taken root. The forest rarely stirs, but when it does the wildlife always seems to walk solemnly by your grave. Sometimes I hear the neighborhood dogs howling and I wonder if they know. Because your presence was so easily felt it is hard not to fixate on your absence, too.
We all still look for you sometimes, because eternity seems too far away to hold you again. Most of the time we just let ourselves be numb to the reality of life without you. Pinecone doesn’t try to hide his bones anymore, because he has nobody to hide them from. He sleeps in your spot now, and I think we all feel grateful that we still have one more furry body to fill it. Your collar is inside a plastic baggie on a shelf, where I’m trying to preserve the scent of you that still clings to it. It’s been two months. Not much has changed.
I’m in Banff right now and it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. We are surrounded by mountains and crystal clear water, bluer than the sky. Every time the sweet mountain air blows through my hair I smile, but there is part of me that hurts because I wish it could ruffle your hair, too. I wish you could feel this sun on your face, or the cool glacial water on your paws. I’m doing all of that for you, but it’s not the same. Even as I am surrounded by 360 degrees of magnificence I can’t picture anything more beautiful than the image of your perfect eyes. Nothing feels warmer to me than the thought of you, and there is nothing sweeter than the memory of your unconditional love.
I picked a flower for you and put it on a tower of rocks in the middle of a stream. The light caught it, and as we walked away it was still sitting in the sun. Maybe it blew away and was carried down the river, and that would be okay. All that matters is that we remember you, and we’re never going to forget you. We’re never going to stop loving you.
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