I’m glad you know that you can’t do it without a dog. A dog’s love is plenty. May your grieving season continue to bring you change, and healing insight. Your crystal clear awareness so beautifully evident in this reading, is an inspiration. Thank you.
Mary, as I said in our last quick exchange, I am so thrilled to know you're reading here, and I hugely appreciate you popping into the comments. Thank you for this—hearing it from someone as rich in awareness as you are is something else.
Roscoe came into my life just when it needed to happen. I had a dream one night that I had a blue heeler like Mad Max. Less than two months later, a cattle dog puppy took up residence in our house and our lives. I justified his adoption as needing a Christmas gift for the kids. Maybe at the time that was true. But make no mistake, Roscoe is mine—as much his choice as I had any say in the matter. And I’m alive today in large part because Roscoe needs me and I need Roscoe. Due to the various practicalities and impracticalities of my life, many of which we’ve discussed, I keep my own room despite having been mostly happily married for the better part of three decades. Roscoe sleeps beside me in our space. In our place. We’re strange bedfellows to be sure. But he can’t be without me and I can be without him. Ironically, I know my marriage is stronger because of this seeming odd to many situation. It’s only recently that my wife’s really embraced fully the ways of the Cult of the Goth Coyote, but she sees now. Now she knows.
Zeke trundled out of those woods in the Upper Peninsula and found you when the time was right. She stayed as long as she could, and then she had to go. In time, at the right time, the next co-pilot will find you. Until then take it easy and keep your eyes peeled.
Thank you for reminding me of this, J. It's not getting easier, but the portrait of Zeke makes it a little less empty. You know how much that means to me.
This is so touching, so personal, so rich and affecting. Our mutual friend Pat Francisco wrote a novel years ago, the title of which I have forgotten, but I have never forgotten this line, uttered by an older man: "That's why I love dogs more than people. The only time they let you down is when they die." As for me, I remember writing in my journal decades ago, "I think my dog kept me alive that night." Peace, and thank you for this essay!
Once again, I found myself nodding in recognition with much of what you say. I won’t travel with a dog though. I like being a dog aunt to the sweet pups and older canine friends of my people, though. I have a few dogs who love me here and there and I them. ♥️
Justine, I'll tell you, I don't feel so lost when I write it, specifically because I know it's going out to people like you. Thank you for being in conversation with me.
I’m glad you know that you can’t do it without a dog. A dog’s love is plenty. May your grieving season continue to bring you change, and healing insight. Your crystal clear awareness so beautifully evident in this reading, is an inspiration. Thank you.
Mary, as I said in our last quick exchange, I am so thrilled to know you're reading here, and I hugely appreciate you popping into the comments. Thank you for this—hearing it from someone as rich in awareness as you are is something else.
Roscoe came into my life just when it needed to happen. I had a dream one night that I had a blue heeler like Mad Max. Less than two months later, a cattle dog puppy took up residence in our house and our lives. I justified his adoption as needing a Christmas gift for the kids. Maybe at the time that was true. But make no mistake, Roscoe is mine—as much his choice as I had any say in the matter. And I’m alive today in large part because Roscoe needs me and I need Roscoe. Due to the various practicalities and impracticalities of my life, many of which we’ve discussed, I keep my own room despite having been mostly happily married for the better part of three decades. Roscoe sleeps beside me in our space. In our place. We’re strange bedfellows to be sure. But he can’t be without me and I can be without him. Ironically, I know my marriage is stronger because of this seeming odd to many situation. It’s only recently that my wife’s really embraced fully the ways of the Cult of the Goth Coyote, but she sees now. Now she knows.
Zeke trundled out of those woods in the Upper Peninsula and found you when the time was right. She stayed as long as she could, and then she had to go. In time, at the right time, the next co-pilot will find you. Until then take it easy and keep your eyes peeled.
Great installment this week.
Thank you for reminding me of this, J. It's not getting easier, but the portrait of Zeke makes it a little less empty. You know how much that means to me.
That makes me happy!
This is so touching, so personal, so rich and affecting. Our mutual friend Pat Francisco wrote a novel years ago, the title of which I have forgotten, but I have never forgotten this line, uttered by an older man: "That's why I love dogs more than people. The only time they let you down is when they die." As for me, I remember writing in my journal decades ago, "I think my dog kept me alive that night." Peace, and thank you for this essay!
Pat is so great—and she's RIGHT. Peace, daddo, and thank you.
Once again, I found myself nodding in recognition with much of what you say. I won’t travel with a dog though. I like being a dog aunt to the sweet pups and older canine friends of my people, though. I have a few dogs who love me here and there and I them. ♥️
Dog aunts are the best. Dogs require good aunts just like kids need 'em.
Maybe you’re on the heels of Where The Wild Things Are. Thank you for your wisdom and your vision. I don’t feel so lost when you read your work.
Justine, I'll tell you, I don't feel so lost when I write it, specifically because I know it's going out to people like you. Thank you for being in conversation with me.