The sudden loss of a friends cat
Dear Maverick:
Your unexpected passing has left people shocked as we try to contemplate, the suddenness of your departure into your next life. Your were a son, friend, teacher and buddy.
We will always have the stories of your time with us and as life continues these will be a part of us, as were you. We also celebrate your life.
Not too long ago while visiting your mom and dad I was able to witness first hand the love they had for you. As we took in an early summer’s day, your poor mom jumped up and down all afternoon untangling your leash from yet another tree, or branch, or rock, or anything that was capable of slowing you down. As you chowed down on grass, you wove in and out, basking in the sun, being the wanderer you so loved.
And being this wanderer reminds me of a story not too long ago as nature beckoned you to her. The door leading to the great outdoors was your escape route so many times to unsuspecting visitors or mom and dad with laden hands.
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This is Part 2 of the incredible gift Highway gave me. She will be with me for the rest of time and every month on the 25th I remember our time together and am thankful for those years.
The saying, “We always hurt the ones we love,” is a part of nature and so rang true for Highway. At the age of 8, Highway, who had a fearless and boundless energy and could outlast me, refused to go on walks and jump from the car to her sandy beach. My mind on inconsequential matters, refused to see what was evident; Highway had changed and not for the best. It took me two days to realize this. I will always live with the guilt of her being in pain for what should have been zero days.
I spent the rest of her life making up for this indiscretion. Full of love and joy, she was spoiled and lived many years beyond what even her vet could surmise. He would tell me, “I can’t believe she is still alive and walking. Whatever you are doing, keep doing it—it is working.” It wasn’t work for me; Highway made it very easy to care for and love her.
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The rationalization of a bond with animals and the abuse they suffered until I was free to care for them
Is there a magical age when we know something is wrong and knowing this, we take the appropriate action to make it right? A wrong that grips our heart—a feeling of revulsion sending signals to our brain saying: ‘This is wrong. This is so very wrong.’
Myself and my alters felt this sense during the years of continued abuse at the ages of five, ten and fifteen and all those in between that sexual assault activities were wrong. Why else the cloak of secrecy and punishment if we talked. There are alters whose sole job is to ensure silence and the inflicted pain is very real. It was ongoing into my adult years of therapy; the ‘no talk to outsiders rule,’ incorporated into the minds of all. We would not be believed, would go to jail or would be institutionalized; losing our families and surely death would follow. In essence, they said: ‘You can’t stop us; you can’t make this wrong a right.’
So, can I use this rationalization when at the age of twenty-three a bond I had with my new puppy, a pure bred collie, sent feelings of disgust as I witnessed my brother practicing bestiality—oral sex for his gratification. Not once. Many times. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was not right. I did nothing. By my own brother’s actions it turned my love of a pet into something sick and disgusting, leaving me years later an activist for pets and their role in our lives. I didn’t just one day arrive at this point. Survivors are different from others who were not subjected to childhood assault involving animals. Others are free to love any animal that crosses their path. Survivors on the other hand, need therapy to free them to love an animal. We need therapy! How perverse is that? Until I could release the feelings from watching the horrors done to animals and my own forced Read the rest of this entry »
This story is the first of two parts portraying the 15 year love between an abused person and abused dog.
A Celebration, Not Loss of Highway’s Life
Highway’s Story
As the wind blew gales of rain on a cold, blustery morning, a rusted out, pick-up truck rambling along a potholed, unkempt road suddenly took a sharp turn as a muddy, rat- faced looking dog limped out in front of it.
As two people pulled themselves from the vehicle, unbeknown to them, a sequence of events began that would change their lives forever. I was one of those people and as I held that shaking bundle of fur and bone in my arms, my heart hammered inside my chest—she was still alive.
We left her with the nearest vet and when we checked back later that afternoon we were informed that the black four legged creature with the white socked paws had been sent to the SPCA. Her limping, the vet informed us, was not the result of being hit early that morning—it was an old injury and the vet would speculate no further.
Two days later, my business partner’s husband phoned the SPCA and to our horror, was informed our ‘rescue’ was to be euthanized that very afternoon. She had use of only three legs; the odds of adoption were slim.
A simple action, not thought upon, would dictate my emotional healing for the next fourteen years.
My partner’s husband asked: “What should I do?” My immediate response: “Bring her home.”
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