Lou - Loss of a Pet
The hardest parts of loss exist because of the depths of love experienced… you cannot have one without the other.
Last month we helped our beloved almost 14 year-old golden retriever Lou make his transition… it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, and it was something I always knew was going to happen. A few hours later, I felt the need to move…the heaviness of the week prior melted off of me as I hiked in the woods with our young pup, Moses. He was quiet, subdued, barely pulled me…and I felt this peaceful presence of mind, body and spirit under the canopy of trees I enjoyed with Louie for so many years. The tension, the anticipation of having to say goodbye to someone that you love so much… it’s awful to endure, and yet it is one of the most certain things in the world. As Moses and I rounded about, we came upon two women and a gaggle of calm large dogs of various breeds, they were chatting and as I approached I heard one of them say, “I just don’t think I can do it again… I just don’t think I can put myself through that again…” and I immediately knew. She was talking about having to put her older dog to sleep and how incredibly hard it was. I was not in the mood for conversing so I just smiled and walked on… but I carried on a conversation in my head…
The anguish, the heartache, the sadness… is it all worth it?
I believe it is. One hundred percent. While I cannot judge anyone else’s capacity to care for an animal, I know that without all of this grief over the loss of our furry family members, there would also be none of the joy, the love, the companionship, the loyalty, the caring, the communication, the connection, the peaceful co-existence that we share with these animals of ours.
The love of a dog (or a cat if they’re your thing) – there is just nothing like it. We can live our lives shielding ourselves from the LOVE because we want to avoid the SADNESS… but is that any way to really live?
Isn’t this just one of the hardest parts of showing up in life and being a human? When we show up with enough vulnerability to love something as much as we love our animals, we open up our hearts. In doing so, we become intertwined, our lives enmeshed and interdependent. The loss of our pets takes us to the certain place of loss itself – it forces us to confront death and our stories about it…we experience an array of complicated emotions associated with grief, and the decision-making and mind-reading we have to do as pet parents adds a unique element for many of us. We must learn to hear what is unsaid and to go with our gut, our Knowing…in these final moments and also in the many far-away years preceding them.
The shorter life cycles of our pets help us practice this thing called grief…though it hardly feels like “practice”... it is where we learn to open ourselves up to love, to loss, and also to coping, healing, grieving, accepting and perhaps deciding to do it all over again.
And so here is a quick tribute to our beloved Lou…. a little corner of the world where his story and the love that he brought to so many in this world will remain.
Lou was born in Maine in 2009, the year that I moved to Orono, Maine with my then-boyfriend Ethan for his doctoral program. We got Lou from a breeder (Goldenridge Kennels) in Hampden on February 28, 2010. I will always remember the date because it was soon-to-be “mud season” in Maine (my first) and everyone warned me that it would be the worst time to get a puppy / house-train said puppy, etc. But I was EAGER, and I am a planner… so I had inquired on the website about incoming litters over the next few months. No more than ten minutes after I hit the SUBMIT button, I received a phone call from the breeder. “I have your dog. He’s ready to go home today… I have three males, red, not alphas… JUST like what you said you wanted, but they’re 14 weeks old already and they need to go to good homes as soon as possible.” My stomach lurched into my throat and I knew… we were getting a puppy that weekend. I got off the phone and strategically presented this information to Ethan; we went to bed that night unsure if we were ready, but are you ever really?
The next day we drove out to the farm with cash in-hand… I was so nervous and excited. When we got there, the three brothers (including Lou) had been moved into the sort-of “teenager” area and there was a ton of action, barking, and jumping up as we walked in. Lou scooted away from the crowd and the commotion… sat down calmly and looked at us from the back. I locked eyes with him, while all of the others were trying to get our attention… “that’s the one.” I remember her saying something about having to go in and get him amidst all of the crazies and we went upstairs to wait for her. Once this docile, dark, sweet little puppy was put into our laps – it was over! Head over heels, never letting him go, this is the one. And our lives with Lou began.
In Maine, we lived in a condo that sat on a land trust; it was such a great place for him. We walked through these trails for miles and miles and miles (eventually off-leash) where he could roam, run, sniff, roll in dead things, swim… and that is indeed what he did. When I think about his life, I envision him being on those land trust trails and in the river with his dear friends Roosevelt and Sampson, along with a host of human friends who helped us raise him and watched him grow up with us. Those two friendly labs really taught him well, and eventually Lou got along with everyone.
Just a few months into puppy parenthood, I brought Lou down to Connecticut to meet my family and lots of family dogs. He became part of a pack at my parent’s house with Monte and Hunter; it was chaos in the best way. He had a bit of an injury on that first trip… on a visit to my aunt Coco’s house, he sprang off of the deck and broke four phalanges in his front paw. He ended up in a cast for several months – which was actually a relief when they quoted us for a potential surgery and then realized he was young enough to have the bones mend on their own – but it was a really humbling moment for us, with many humbling and trying moments over the next few months trying to keep that cast on, clean, and to keep him healing. It was also the worst smelling thing you could ever imagine…
Lou was known for giving you his paw as soon as we sat down, and I believe that habit stemmed from this time in his life when we were constantly examining and protecting that damn cast and foot. We were so relieved when that shriveled little puppy leg regained its strength and it was like nothing even happened just a few months later.
One of Lou’s favorite places in the world was Lake Sunapee, where my parents-in-law live… and pretty close to Dartmouth where Ethan and I met and where “Lou’s Restaurant” exists. Yes, he’s named after a diner. =) A Northern New Englander through and through, Lou loved every season in New Hampshire. He especially loved spending hours and hours and days and days on the dock… enjoying a dip in the water, having an epically long fetch & swim sesh, or just watching the kids play and the boats go by. I think this was his favorite place in the world and I hope he has found a dock like that in doggy heaven.
Lou moved with us from Maine, to Pennsylvania for one year as Ethan finished up his graduate program, and then to Connecticut where he lived most of his life in our home in Orchard Hill… across from his buddy, Hunter. Lou loved our family, friends, all of our visitors… he was front and center at many essential oils classes and raindrop workshops, he liked to lay right under the massage tables. Lou would actually nudge me for raindrops late in his life and I gave him a few to help relieve his aches and pains. Lou had so many adventures with us and made his way into the hearts of so many people out there. He was even part of several therapy sessions to help children with anxiety and fears of dogs overcome them. He was the gentlest soul… but he also wasn’t afraid to make himself and his needs known. He never started anything with other dogs, but he also didn’t take any shit.
Lou, thank you for making us a family. You taught me so much about being vulnerable enough to love something so much, and I would do it all over again without a doubt. Even now, having to endure this heartache, I recognize that my heart is so much bigger because of you. Thank you for teaching me about living selflessly in love and in service to others. Love you buddy, rest easy and you are in my heart forever and ever.
They say that you should be the person your dog thinks you are, but maybe we should all just be a little more like LOU.
XOXO, Christina