I knew this morning would be difficult. For the first time in 10 years, I did not have Winnipeg here in the morning to take out and feed. There was no call, "Come on, Winnipeg. Let's go inside." Okay, there was, but she didn't come back inside.
I've cried several times. I've retold the story of how she and I both knew yesterday morning that January 1 would be her last day...how that dog lived her life on her own terms and she died on her own terms. At her own home. In my arms. In the light of the sun.
I also noticed her presence very clearly when I went outside this morning. I've always had a sense of spirits around me. In fact, when our mother died, the first thing my sister asked me to do was walk around my aunt's house to see if she was around. She wasn't, and we were a little angry with her for not sticking around for us in those early, painful moments.
But not my Winnipeg. Her spirit is very much here. It's like when she would go out in the dark night and walk so far away I couldn't see her. I can't see her, but she's really here. That's my girl. From the day she arrived at my house, she was my dog. She always looked out for me, and in some ways I think her death was just another way of protecting me...from watching her limp toward death.
I went through pictures this morning, digging back to her puppy pics. As I arranged them in chronological order, one thing was obvious. She really was fading. As I flipped through her life, I could see the exhaustion setting in, picture by picture, and it grew more intense after July of this past year. She was a gentle creature with a glint in her eye. Yet, while I continued to see her gentleness in the pictures, I also noted the loss of that spark.
I don't blame her. Life with me can be dramatic at times. The last two years have been especially dramatic, and it's hard to watch the people you love struggle. Winnipeg took it all in stride. She loved me deeply. That I know. She was desperately afraid to be without me. That anyone who ever saw her when I left knows. I loved that dog just as deeply. We walked side by side through so much life and death and drama.
And she did it so beautifully. Winnipeg was never in your face (unless you had some pizza), but you were always aware of her presence. There was something special about that one, and I'm so glad that I was her person...the one who got to witness such a beautiful creature. Thank you, God for the opportunity. Thank you, Winnipeg for sharing this stretch of life with me. I wouldn't have it any other way.
I've cried several times. I've retold the story of how she and I both knew yesterday morning that January 1 would be her last day...how that dog lived her life on her own terms and she died on her own terms. At her own home. In my arms. In the light of the sun.
I also noticed her presence very clearly when I went outside this morning. I've always had a sense of spirits around me. In fact, when our mother died, the first thing my sister asked me to do was walk around my aunt's house to see if she was around. She wasn't, and we were a little angry with her for not sticking around for us in those early, painful moments.
But not my Winnipeg. Her spirit is very much here. It's like when she would go out in the dark night and walk so far away I couldn't see her. I can't see her, but she's really here. That's my girl. From the day she arrived at my house, she was my dog. She always looked out for me, and in some ways I think her death was just another way of protecting me...from watching her limp toward death.
I went through pictures this morning, digging back to her puppy pics. As I arranged them in chronological order, one thing was obvious. She really was fading. As I flipped through her life, I could see the exhaustion setting in, picture by picture, and it grew more intense after July of this past year. She was a gentle creature with a glint in her eye. Yet, while I continued to see her gentleness in the pictures, I also noted the loss of that spark.
I don't blame her. Life with me can be dramatic at times. The last two years have been especially dramatic, and it's hard to watch the people you love struggle. Winnipeg took it all in stride. She loved me deeply. That I know. She was desperately afraid to be without me. That anyone who ever saw her when I left knows. I loved that dog just as deeply. We walked side by side through so much life and death and drama.
And she did it so beautifully. Winnipeg was never in your face (unless you had some pizza), but you were always aware of her presence. There was something special about that one, and I'm so glad that I was her person...the one who got to witness such a beautiful creature. Thank you, God for the opportunity. Thank you, Winnipeg for sharing this stretch of life with me. I wouldn't have it any other way.
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