Walking Daisy

Reflections on living and dying.

I took our collie, Daisy, out first thing this morning. This extended Arctic blast has been hard on everyone. Our dogs included. It’s too cold to leave them outside for any extended length of time. Ordinarily by this time, patches of clear ground would be breaking through the foot of snow we had last week. But we haven’t cracked freezing since. Last night the temps dropped below zero. So, the snow isn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. It’s only getting compacted and slicker, like a glacier.

So, the dogs, even Daisy our eldest, have cabin fever. Cold or not, we need to figure something out. But in this cold, nothing is simple.

I have to put Daisy in the car to get her to the park. Managing the un-shoveled sidewalks and the paw burning rock salt left on the cleared pavement makes walking there too difficult.

I am grateful I can still lift her in and out of the car. But, getting lifted in and out of the back seat is not her favorite thing by a long shot. Still, she puts up with the indignity of it as a necessary part of aging. She’s twelve now. Like me, there’s more of life behind her than ahead, which is what I tell people who ask how old that is in human years.

We drove to Overly’s Grove today. Her reaction to being set down on the cleared parking lot was like an immigrant stepping off the boat and kissing the ground. And no salt!

What a privilege it is to walk with her now, at the end of her life...the end of our lives...yes, I feel the edges of my own mortality pressing against the nerves in my legs and lower back. My toes are numb and my fingers tingle with more than Arctic cold.

This morning, Daisy got brave and decided to go up onto the crusty snow over a small snowbank the plow left. She fell through a couple of times, but she quickly developed a light touch. Her seventy pounds carried precariously on a thin sheen of ice.

She walked slowly as if each step was a revelation. Carrying herself with an easy grace and dignity that belied her years and the frigid cold. And I was happy to follow her. Each step of mine landing like a missile, leaving a gaping hole surrounded by shards of snow and ice.

I struggled along beside her until we came to the end of the park. But Daisy continued into the dazzling white field. It was as if she was staring off at something I could not see.

I stopped and waited on the other side of the brush line that marked the farmer’s field from the public park. I watched her standing in the field for a moment and wondered, “Is this what dying will be like for her?” Calmly looking into the near distance, framed in a blinding light?

What did she see? Did our other collies, Prince and FanCee see it when they died?

Maybe it was the truth, revealing itself finally, exactly where you always thought it would be, despite everyone telling you you’re crazy all your life.

I stood behind her, holding the leash, realizing how absurd it was that I hesitated to step onto the farmer’s field even though there was no one was around to see it. If a tree falls and no one hears it…and yet I stayed where I was. This was holy ground, and I could feel myself becoming a memory as I watched Daisy.

Then, Daisy lifted her nose to the breeze the way you might have gone through Rolodex cards of friends and loved ones once. Her canine nose gave her access to a world that was forever off limits to me, a mere human.

Our every outing went like this. Parting and returning, repeatedly, Daisy stopping to sniff the ground and experiencing a world I would never know. Did she pity me my impatience?

Yes, the day of our ultimate parting is surely coming. But, the weight of the leash in my hand was strangely reassuring. It felt like a promise of sorts. We were here together, and if this moment could be trusted, it would always be so. The details will work themselves out. Don’t worry about it now.

And so, I gave the leash a gentle tug, said ‘come on Dais, it’s time to go’ and Daisy came to me without complaint. Like she always does.

Like I pray she always will…one way or another.

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