Whenever Breeze and Brad and I take a walk, strangers who pass us on the sidewalk ask how old our “puppy” is. As the years go by, we smile, happy to be able to answer that on February 14th, she will turn ten or eleven or twelve: we are thrilled to hear their exclamations of disbelief. This year, she reaches the ripe old age of thirteen; she’s been our Valentine for all those years, ever since we brought her home to California at eight weeks old, from her breeders in North Carolina.
I still can’t believe she is now an “old” dog. With the exception of a limp that appears only for a minute or two upon getting up from her chair after she’s been sleeping, her age is invisible. She is still frisky, and every morning after breakfast speeds across the yard as fast as a bullet, barking with joyous vigor to let the world know she is alive and well. As my grandmother used to say: “We should all look so good!”
But the sad truth is that Breeze will be with us for only a couple more years, at best. Dalmatians live to be thirteen or fourteen, or, once in a great while, a bit past that. I consider it lucky that she has been with us this long. Independent and a bit sassy, she keeps her own counsel and yet is quite affectionate. Always up for a cuddle or a romp with her stuffed fish taco, she’s a wonderful combo of a girl who knows her own mind and yet realizes that she depends on us as much as we depend on her.
Nine years ago, she had her first litter, and Cody was born. Then another year passed and Mac arrived. At four years old, Breeze had passed into motherhood. Before that, however, she was a younger sister to our beloved Gulliver, who was the dog of my heart.
He was not a dog-friendly kind of guy, and when we brought Breeze home from North Carolina as a baby we worried that he would reject her; and so on the night that we introduced them we did it with care. We put Breeze down on the ground in the driveway and brought Gullie out from the house on a leash. Holding our breath, we brought him over to meet her. Imagine: a sixty-five pound dog checking out a ten pound puppy.
He took his time, beginning with her backside, taking a good long sniff, and then worked his way forward to her ears, with particular care around her eyes and her muzzle. When he had completed a thorough circuit of sniffing, he gave her a lick on her nose and then play bowed to her. And so began a long and intense friendship that lasted until he passed from a sudden illness at twelve years old.
They were inseparable, and played all sorts of games together, many of them carefully designed to take into account the differences in their sizes and their ages. Hide and seek around the couch was one of their favorites, and always made us laugh as little Breeze popped out from behind the back and Gullie chased her around again. They slept curled together, one’s nose upon the other’s back in a “puppy pile,” just like brother and sister.
When Gulliver died precipitously, and Brad and I returned home from the vet’s office without him, Breeze ran in circles, sniffing and sniffing, trying to understand where her dear friend had gone. I took to my bed, unable to stop crying, and she came up into his favorite spot beneath my chin, trying to comfort the two of us simultaneously. Months went by before she stopped looking for him at the door.
How fast the years have passed since those early years of frolicking with Gulliver, from being a young mother, to being the matriarch who still—even now—sometimes has to discipline her two unruly boys with a sharp word or a snap. When I think that someday her chair in the bedroom will be empty, and her “bright eyes” gone, it is inevitable that tears begin to roll.
Dogs lives are so much shorter than ours and, because of this, they teach us about the ephemeral nature of life in ways which our family members usually do not. We love them and then, in the tick of a second, lose them. And that loss is deep, very deep, as unconditional as the love upon which it is based. When Breeze passes, I will feel sadness, and then even more sadness beneath that.
So I say: Thank you Breeze, for all you have given our family. Thank you for thirteen years of Valentine’s delight, which we celebrate with a big bowl of vanilla ice cream tonight. Happy birthday, little Mama!
And as for the rest of you: Cherish your dogs and cats, your gerbils and hamsters, your goldfish and parrots, your chickadees and snakes. Cherish the ones your kids drag in and the ones you choose to make part of your home yourself. Years of happiness await!
Yours,
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