I’ve Been Lately Thinking

It’s a beautiful day. Hushed, warm in the sun, and cool in the shade. It’s the kind of day that’s ideal to let your mind drift to other days.

Much has changed since I was able to write. Take a look at the archives and you’ll get a firm understanding of how long it’s been. There’s been a lot (and I do mean that) of life between that last post and this one. And I’m determined to flex these muscles once again and get back at it. Because, as I’ve said before, “When I can’t write I’m a nasty old bitch.” (Those of you familiar with the University of Montana Dance Department in the ’80s will know what that means. The rest of you will have to take that at face value.)

So … anyway. Today is the ninth anniversary of the death of our much beloved, legendary dog Bucky. The first in a long line of Wheatons among my contemporaries, Bucky was a rescue that Alana and I decided to save from a puppy mill if only to put him down. He was a mess when we found him. More a muddy bath mat than a dog. But we did it. We saved him, and he grew to be one of the most charismatic dogs I’ve ever known. As a friend once put it, “He’s not a dog, he’s a human in a dog suit.” And it was true.

Bucky endured a lot of pain in his final years. We were injecting him with fluids and he had long given up his daily walks, which were oddly more like daily trots. He led the way through many a hiking trail at a summer camp on a caldera. That meant we had to treat his paws with Bag Balm because the trail was mostly volcanic breccia. Towards the end, he had a way of sneaking up on you and standing RIGHT BEHIND YOU, so that, if you weren’t careful, you could trip right over him and he wouldn’t mind a bit. It was like he was insinuating himself into your physical space. Just kinda ambling for attention, or staying close to what was familiar to him, because everything other than your backside had become foreign.

Which brings me to loss — both it’s familiarity and its foreignness.

All that life I’ve previously mentioned has included, of late, a lot of loss. Between then and now, we’ve lost another dog (sweet Gracie), we’ve lost dear friends, we’ve lost our belief in fairness in the democratic process (well maybe not lost, but it’s definitely been confused lately). My dear friend who recently succumbed to ALS used to talk a lot about loss with me. He used to say he’d gained more than he’d lost. Usually, every time he had to let go of something, like the function of his hands, or his legs, or his voice, he’d focus on what he’d gained. He was a life-long gainer, that guy. I miss him. I miss it all. I miss the friends, and the dogs and the innocence and the ability to easily fix some of the issues I encounter.

It’s easy to be tired, isn’t it? It’s easy to want so desperately to heal the world, but let the falling short be what holds you back from trying. And yet.

And yet it’s a beautiful day. The smoke has cleared, the fires are (mostly) contained, the leaves have started to turn. Baseball is almost back. It’s my favorite time of the year — this slow, steady reminder that the world outside is settling in for a nap.