Though it has been more than a year since you departed this world, I still have moments where I think of you.
Hiking in Runyon Canyon last weekend was one of them. I remembered the sheer joy on your face as you yodeled to me from the back of the car. You knew where were were going as soon as I turned onto Franklin to park. I remembered that day we ran into Cesar Milan with his pack of pitbulls up there. That time that you resolutely decided to not walk a step further and it took several of us in turns to carry you down the hill, then straight to the vet where suddenly you were "fine".
You greeted me every morning without fail as though it were the happiest moment you'd ever experienced. You taught me so much about living in the moment because you embodied the joy of the Now. You were loving and kind to everyone equally. You tolerated the loving tugs of enthusiastic small children on your ears and tail without a grumble, just a deft sidestep. I watched you sleep and dream. I knew all your groans, moans, barks, growls and yodels. You spoke clearly yet without words. You taught me about love and family, about life and death. You provided solace in grief, nurturing in illness, abundance in emptiness. You were my furry bodhisattva.
I'd like to get another dog but as I know it will never be the same without you -- I hestitate. Still, when you entered my life, I had not planned for nor expected you. You were just there one day and it felt as though you had always been. When you fell into a deep puppy sleep in my lap the afternoon I drove us home, my heart opened to receive your love in a way I had never experienced.
One day, perhaps another being like you will join me on the road of life. In the meanwhile I will gratefully accept your presence in my memories and your appearance in my dreams for the precious gifts they are.