And the Healing Has Begun

Here is what helps.

Lovely people that I don’t know at all, others that I haven’t met but somehow know in a pretty deep way, and people I have known a long, long time, who offer words of comfort because they know what it’s like to hurt over “just a dog.” Thank you all, and please know how much it means that you care.

Still having a dog to trip over because she can’t be bothered to move from the middle of the doorway just because you are coming through with a full basket of clothes fresh off the line and you can’t really see what you are doing, plus you are old and liable to break a hip at any moment should you trip over something in the doorway. Thanks for keepin’ it real, Bonnie.

Also in the Critters Keepin’ It Real category, Tammie Faye pecked a hole in my ankle today because I was a little slow on the draw with the Hen Scratch. Oh Tammie Faye, it hurt so good, way to keep it real.

The chickens keep being chickens no matter what. They have now bestowed FOUR DOZEN eggs on us! I will never get over the thrill of reaching in a nest box and bringing out a warm, freshly laid egg. What a miracle.

The garden just keeps on a-going, doing its best to morph into The Impenetrable Jungle, meanwhile bestowing lots of goodness onto our plates. Watermelon! Tomatoes! Cucumbers (Oh! Mah! Gah! the cucumbers!) Peppers! Cantaloupe! Beans! Cucumbers! Carrots! Cucumbers! Basil! Cucumbers! Parsley! Cucumbers! Cilantro! Cucumbers! Leeks! Cucumbers! And cucumbers!

Listening to lots of Van Morrison, whose voice can make my spirit soar and bring the tears and whose dour Irishness speaks directly to my dour Irish heart.

Remembering all those wacky Bronco moments. Bronco was our clown, our problem, our entertainer, our Needy Boy, our Emotional One. We always said that if we had decided to have only one dog, and it was Bonnie, our life would have been so easy. But boring. Not because Bonnie is boring, but because she is so self-sufficient and grown-up, so Not a Problem. Unlike Bronco, who could always be counted on to do something off-the-wall, like possibly swallow something metal that he shouldn’t have, leading to calling Sam over to scope him while Uncle Bob comforts him.

Also remembering his sweetness, how he comforted the sick so very many times, climbing into bed with Rick’s mother, who adored him; visiting the nursing home, lying beside the bed of whoever was not feeling so good that day, or just knowing when someone needed to pat a dog on the head and showing up. There will be other dogs for us, oh yes there will, because we can’t bear to give up all the good stuff even though it hurts so much at the end. But there will never be another Bronco, who was truly one of a kind.

Bronco was kind to us to the very end. We were on our way to the vet’s office to get The Shot when Bronco died quietly in Rick’s arms, sparing us that awful vet visit. He is now buried in a beautiful high spot out back, near what we have always called “the monument rock” because of its impressive size. We were so lucky to know him.

(Next week I will resume Normal Life, including those celebrity stalking photos we grabbed on our short sojourn to the Writers’ Conference.)