For the past several years, my number one value was my dog Bella. Ever since my other dog Puzo died at 15 years, she was my priority. We spent two years living the retired life together in France and Spain. Bella accompanied me on my lap in cafes, bars, and the parks. When her legs and paws became tired, I carried her like a baby, to ensure she had prime sunshine on her face. In the past year, when I had to return to work, I purchased a condo five minutes from work in order to maximize time with her. My lunch breaks I rushed home to take her out, eat with her, and return home to go on leisurely walks on the beach, ports, or her the local pet shop. When I had dates or visited with friends, I often asked if Bella could accompany us. I included Bella wherever possible in numerous facets of my life.
And now she’s gone. Nearly 16 years to the day we found each other in a California park near sunset, she left this earth. I’ve been a pet mom for 18 years, placing their lives as my number one value as I navigated relationships, jobs, and moves. We moved back and forth to California several times, including extended time in Hawaii, the United Kingdom, Paris, and Spain. As I accepted work positions, there was no question if they would be with me. Their presence was a solid yes.
The question that arises now that her and Puzo are gone, is what are my values at this point? How will I make the choices in my life now that my fur companions are gone? What will be number one at this time in my life?
Oftentimes there’s a dramatic shift in our life that occurs: a death, relationship ending, graduation, health crisis, monumental birthday, or job loss. We are left with the question, now that this identity is no longer in my life, who am I? How do I want to be? And now the transformative journey begins… I have so much more to share about her impact in my life, but for now with this hole I am curious how to navigate the world without her?
It’s scary, exciting, and nerve wracking. The unknown. It’s life.
My canine companion is turning 16 years old this month. Often after people ask me about her breed and name, I am quick to also respond with her age. As I mouth the words 16, often people are impressed. They may share how old their dogs are, or if they had an elder dog, share stories of the age their dogs lived to. And there’s a moment of connection, we bond over being parents of elderly dogs.
Over the past 2 ½ years, after Puzo (my English Bulldog) died of 15 years, Bella had a difficult time adjusting. Her whole time in this world included him being in it. It was then she began howling if I left the room, because she was alone with no one in her pack. At the time we were living in Paris, and as we both grieved his loss, we would walk two long blocks to the Eiffel Tower to seek comfort in the park and the spectacular beauty of this site.
She began going with me more on first dates, time with friends, mini vacations. We drove from France to Spain, as she sat in my mother’s lap for the entire 17 hour trip. Over time, her age began showing, she no longer could jump on the couch as she used to. She would tire on our walks, and so I would carry her. People ask me often why not take a stroller, but I think she enjoys lying like a baby in my arms, half asleep, taking in the sun.
Since moving back to America this year, Bella has surprised me. She has learned to swim, learned to play a new game with treats, and taken her first selfie. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Bella is proof.
(Bella’s First Selfie)
This week, I had leftovers from a New Years Eve meal: Filet Mignon. She devoured pieces of it over a span of three days. Today, my friend and I went to the fancy Rosewood Miramar in Montecito. I served Bella bits of cerviche. Yes, she is spoiled, but doesn’t a 16 year old deserve this?
Two women visiting from out of state chatted with us as we left the outdoor restaurant. They noticed the satisfaction in Bella’s face. My friend was quick to offer that Bella has had a good life, the best life. And I couldn’t agree more. 16 years ago I found her stray in Santa Barbara county, and she joined me as we moved to Hawaii, LA, England, Paris, Spain, and back to California. People often ask where did she enjoy the best, but where she loves most I realize is anywhere that I am with more time off, and moments to sleep in the sun.
With that I offer a Cheers to Bella- my 16 year old chug (or puguaua) bundle of joy. And if you have a dog too, cheers to your companion and witness to the journey of your life
Yesterday, as I was walking my dog, I saw a stray petit black dog. Automatically I was worried. He had no collar and looked familiar, he looked like another neighbor’s dog. The dog was located next to the house of a family who recently vacated the building. I had heard horror stories about the family, who took the week to move out, and carelessly left belongings in the front and back of the home. Did they leave their dog? These were both black small dogs, would they have dared to leave him? I have heard stories of people leaving their dogs leashed or unleashed when they move from homes, so the dogs would not find them, and the family could have a fresh start sans animal. I was hoping it wasn’t the case.
Outside of a hello, I rarely talk to my neighbors, but I found myself purposefully asking neighbors closeby “was this the previous neighbors’ dog?” Both individuals I asked said no, stating this dog belonged to someone several blocks away. One of these neighbors said she would walk the little black dog back home. She had once found this same dog, and he escorted her to where he lived. What an intelligent little thing, but why would owners let them loose on streets that could get busy at times? She tried to nudge the little young black dog home, but he was playing with my older dog. He was following us to my home, and to help the neighbor out, we all walked several blocks, and escorted this dog to his rightful home. We found out he was a three year old boy named Scotty, whose owner was searching for him that afternoon.
I had only met this elderly neighbor once. She introduced herself (Rosie) and her dog (Phoebe), when we moved into the neighborhood. She has had her dog, which is a terrier mix, for three years. She had found her in the recycling bin years ago, right behind the condo complex. Phoebe was difficult to get out of the bin, because she kept biting hands that were trying to save her out of fear. With multiple attempts and the assistance of her adult children, they got Phoebe out of the recycling bin. They cleaned her up and created signs for those who may be missing a dog, nobody claimed her. Rosie realized that Phoebe may have been the pet of a homeless person, as the dog had a strong digestive issue, which appeared to be from drinking contaminated water. Despite this, they fell in love with her and Phoebe has been in Rosie’s home for years.
Morale beauty is an aspect of awe which occurs when we witness or observe acts of kindness, courage, or strength in other humans that bring a sense of amazement and wonder to us. I couldn’t help but feel this way for Rosie, who in small moments offers her kindness to these pets who enter her life. I’ve only interacted with her twice, and both times have amazed me. As we walked little Scotty home, I couldn’t help but think this is what true neighbors did back in the day. This is what community is, we offer support and watch to each other, and our pets.
Who in your life brings a sense of awe for the morale beauty they exhibit? How can you offer kindness to a neighbor? Morale beauty isn’t always recognized on the news or talk shows, but it exists all around us if we have the space to look.
Thanks Rosie for the kindness you offer to our neighborhood, and the pets that enter our lives.
Yesterday morning, after I woke up and made a cup of chai tea, I spilled it on my furry slippers. It was odd, but I thought nothing of it. I was simply too tired. Before I got into the shower, I noticed brown on my slippers, and thought this was strange. But it wasn’t until I got into the shower and washed my feet, particularly my right foot and saw something brown on there that wouldn’t come off.
It wasn’t dog poop or any type of animal poop, as the smell was not strong. But what was it? And why wouldn’t it come off? I began to analyze this. It was on my right side of my body, linked with the masculine side, the logical industrious part of me. Why had tea spilled on me, was I being warned that I should look at my feet? Could it be that this was a metaphor that my life was really shitty and horrible, and I am amongst it at the moment? Was it a positive sign I should borrow from other traditions, that if a bird poops on you, it means good luck. It smelled like dead batteries or oil. I didn’t know what to make of it. I told my friend Isabella about this situation, and she said that growing up as a native Californian, it’s normal to step on tar on the beach. These are remnants of oil washed on sand. When I told her, I didn’t know how to analyze this in the meaning of my life, she said:
“Sometimes you step on tar, and it’s just tar.”
Or
“Sometimes you just step in poop.”
There may be no metaphorical or spiritual meaning to this, which is what I usually try to seek. It is what it is, and that is okay. It was a great reminder, that there are so many ways to view a situation: as a victim, from a spiritual perspective, analytical, metaphorical, or logical. All could be possible, or it could just be literal. Choice is yours.
Today I had to say goodbye to one of my closest companions for the past 15 years. This has been one of the hardest moments, and I knew he waited for me until I came back from my trip. I had minimal sleep last night, crying as I looked at him, as he looked at me, his head rested on my hand, and we both knew our remaining time is limited. I played my Puzo playlist day and night, which consisted of his favorite classical, jazz, and kirtan songs (his favorite song is by Paz – Om Ganapataye, which I played in the vet office as he died).
I’ve had so many memories with this being who came into my life when I was 28, and has now left when I was 43. We had 15 years and 1 month together. Over the years, he’s travelled to more places than some humans. He was a gift from my mother from Amish country in Ohio to NYC (with sidetrips to Connecticut, Vermont, Philly), and two moves to California, Hawaii, and we lived in three residences in the United Kingdom (he even visited Scotland), and finally Paris France. I know he has now transitioned to a place where he will have further adventures and watch over me from above.
It was through walking him and his sister Bella, that I began to talk to strangers in these unfamiliar cities or to explore parks in places I would never have frequented. He opened my heart in ways I didn’t know it was possible. We named him Puzo, as Anthony’s favorite author was Mario Puzo (author of the Godfather), but puso in Tagalog (the Filipino language) means heart. He definitely lived into the name of Gangsta Mafia and Fullness of Heart. I love you Puzo, and I’ve appreciated every joyful, crazy, hilarious, difficult, touching moment with you over the years. We will miss you and I know you will be watching over us and protecting us in this next phase.
Earlier in the week, I had a pending zoom call at 12:00 on a Saturday. It was after 10:00 am, and I thought I could squeeze in a good ninety minutes at the park. We generally had the luxury of two hours, so ninety minutes felt tight. Yet, I was determined to do this. I would rush to the park, find our spot and blanket in the sun, restore, then zip back for the call. But how we plan things does not always equate with what arises. This is particularly the case when you have a 15 year old British bulldog in a stroller and a 13 year old pug/chiauaua mix who walks at a different speed.
As we began our walk to the park, the sidewalks were crowded, as it was the weekend. We passed a cheerful homeless guy, who I see daily and always wants to greet my chug. But so many people were around, and I couldn’t seem to back track to return to him for his daily pet. I mouthed “later.” Shortly after, an elderly female who also was a dog owner stopped to talk to us at the light in French. I tried to answer in French, “il est vient, il est quinze ans.” He is old, he is 15 years old.” She spoke in English. I wanted to try to cross the sidewalk while it was green, but Puzo began to stand up in his stroller. I pushed him back down. The lady then proceeded to carry her dog up to Puzo height and practically in his stroller to smell him. I was not going to make the light, it seemed like a comedic scene from a sitcom. I was in a rush, and the world was not letting me go at that fast pace. I then stepped in a puddle on the street from the street cleaning.
We eventually made it to the park, found our spot in the sun and sat. As I looked at the Eiffel Tower, I realized I was living the life I had planned for one year earlier. I was in France, all this work to get to here and I have arrived. My dog park was the Champ de Mars, but was I really present? Was I living here truly? Time passed, as numerous dogs and their owners came over to sniff my dogs.
As we walked home, I seemed to time it perfectly. I didn’t factor in these triplet five-year old French girls who wanted to pet my dogs. One girl tried to take the leash out of my hand, asking in French to walk my dog? I didn’t know how to respond, until her mother came over and told her no. The girl removed her hands from Bella’s leash. They individually wanted to pet both Puzo and Bella. I realized all of my interactions today were friendly and kind, but my sense of being in a rush could ruin this experience.
This was such a metaphor for my life here in Paris. I came here to write my book, but I have yet to be signed by publishers. My agent is encouraging me to pause until I am signed. I must be patient with this process of a book being developed. Originally, I wanted to be in Paris for one year, in and out with a book completed. But this year is not looking like that. It’s delayed. I’m learning to slow down, and luxuriate in pleasures. Learn to appreciate my time here guilt free. Somehow this is tough for me to do. To unlearn.
But if I am honest with myself, another reason I came here was to ease the transition with my dogs. They are older and Puzo would not make it back to fly to America. Our move from the UK to France, was smoother via car rather than plane. I’m able to spend more time with them, without the confines of a commute or regular job. Our pied-a-terre has turned into an elderly dog nursing home, and I have transitioned from being a psychologist to one who is a caregiver for my dogs. The frequent accidents that occur in the home, the slow strolls, and the somatization of physical issues when I travel are all a reminder for me to live in patience. I have to remind myself that my life right now is a living breathing loving kindness patience meditation. This is where we are at, and what is required of me at the moment is unconditional love and care.
Perhaps this is what I am meant to learn here in Paris. To slow down, practice patience, and pleasure. I am to learn what it truly means to be present in my day to day life, not just as a mental construct. Let go of what is next, because the reality is I do not know what that entails.
“If when you look at me, you only see a white face and cloudy eyes, a burden or a hassle…you’ve missed out on the best part of me…Love me until the very end, for I am a gift. With each wag of my tail, I say thank you.”– Bacardi Reynolds
Recently Puzo had a near death experience. Or at least so I thought. Puzo is my English Bulldog who was extremely sick days before his 15th birthday. I had gone away to Majorca for 6 days, and he developed diarrehea when I left. When I returned, his illness would not stop. He would not eat, and everything was coming out of him. Pure incontinence. I was preparing for the worst with each day. Would I have to put him to sleep the next week? With each area I cleaned up, I reminded myself this was a meditation. All my love for him. I distracted myself by binging on the Netflix’s reality show Love is Blind, just to not have to think of the horror awaiting me.
Luckily I was able to secure medication for him prior to his vet appointment, and we celebrated his birthday in pure doggie style, with rotisserie chicken. The day after his birthday, we even made it to the Champ de Mars with his stroller, as his incontinence stopped. The vet confirmed his prognosis. Nothing was wrong with him, he’s just old. I made the realization, that when I go on holiday, his anxiety exacerbates and he somaticizes his stress. The other two times earlier in the year, something similar happened and he acted out. We picked up anxiety meds for my next vacation.
Since his illness has worked through his system, he seems to have a new lease on life. He’s been given another chance, not even a second chance. At this point, it’s easily his fourth or fifth chance on life. He seems to be appreciating life more. I know I am anthropomorphisizing him a bit, yet I can’t help and notice shifts in his behavior. He is waking up earlier in the morning, as soon as the sun rises. He is wanting to take in more of the day. He soaks in all of the rays when we go to the Eiffel Tower, and sit on blanket in the grass. I swear this Parisian monument and park inspires him. People wait their whole lives to visit here, and this is the park we go to several times a week. Puzo tries to get out of his stroller as we near the park or when we leave, his excitement on his wrinkled face shows. He wants to prove he can walk further than I let him. Even on our tiny promenades in our tiny passage, he is walking more with ease and down the hallway. I am witnessing his exploratory nature increase, he is showing me he is not ready to give up. He loves his wanderlust life too much. A dog who my mom purchased for me when I was in my 20s from Amish country to Ohio. He’s jetsetted with me to New York City, California, Hawaii, back to California, the United Kingdom and now Paris. He has a new perspective on life, and so do I .
“Dogs are our link to paradise. They don’t know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring—it was peace.” – Milan Kundera
It Only Takes A Smile 