Dogs are gifts from Heaven; cherish them

     She lived, quite literally, at the bottom of a mountain.  Her two-story house was dark green, tiny, and built upon a cement slab, rather than on a foundation.

     On a bitterly cold day in late November,  I stepped onto the perfectly square, concrete door stoop and knocked softly. From inside the house, I could hear sharp, high-pitched barking and within seconds the door opened and there she stood; looking a little lost in the snappy, bold colors that dressed the walls just behind her.  At her feet sat Sweetie Pie, her blonde Chihuahua, smiling up at me with a droopy pink tongue and bold, black button eyes that never missed a click.

     I stooped and cupped the dog’s chin in my gloved hand.  “Hi, there Sweetie Pie!”  She grunted at me and ran back into the house, her toenails clicking on the rather worn linoleum.

     We sat down at a miniature kitchen table and I pulled her file out of my case.   “How are you, Mrs. Swanson?  When you called me, you said there is something very important you need to ask me about.   I’m here and you have my undivided attention!”

     She reached down and drew Sweetie Pie up into her arms, kissing the top of her round head.  I looked around the small alcove we sat in, enthralled by the whimsical charm and quite impressed with the professional, beautifully framed photos of her beloved Chihuahua.

     “I am thinking that once Sweetie passes on,” she said, “I may want to move to an assisted living apartment.  What is your experience with these sorts of facilities?”

     “Very positive,” I said.  “Wonderful care, safe environment, good food!  I laughed nervously.  Mrs. Swanson had no family, other than a very elusive niece who lived in Portland. “Has someone suggested you should leave your home?”

     “No,” she said thoughtfully. “Just planning ahead and I want to know what YOU think,” she said.  “I trust you.”

     I felt like I was about to make the most important speech of my life.

     “Mrs. Swanson, you are much wiser than I am or will ever be, but here is my two cents.  Enjoy every day you have here at the foot of this majestic mountain with your loving companion, Sweetie Pie.  I know it is easier said than done, but try to live day by day without dwelling upon the what-ifs. Sweetie Pie is here today and hopefully will be here tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow …”

     I spread my arms out wide for effect and Sweetie barked. “You know the old saying: We will cross that bridge when we come to it.  As long as you are safe living here and as long as you feel well, I see no reason to plan on leaving.”

     That was nearly seven years ago, and Sweetie Pie, at the age of 14, passed away shortly after that memorable visit.  Mrs. Swanson is still living at the foot of that mountain and the photos of Sweetie Pie continue to decorate the dazzling walls of her little house.   Sweetie Pie in a ballerina tutu. Sweetie Pie dressed in a pumpkin suit.  Sweetie Pie with reindeer antlers and of course, Sweetie Pie with angel wings and a halo.

     I hear from Mrs. Swanson from time to time and our conversation always begins and ends with stories about Sweetie.  “I surely loved that little dog, Mrs. Ouellette.  To me, she was my child.  Not many people understand this.”

     “I understand this, Mrs. Swanson.   I understand completely.”  At this point, I launch into tales of my own furry child, a handsome, first generation Goldendoodle who holds my heart deep in the pads of his polar bear- sized paws.

     Mrs. Swanson always listens politely to my Barney Goldendoodle tales, her mind filled with yet more Sweetie Pie memories to share.  I hand the spotlight back to Mrs. Swanson, settle back in my chair, close my eyes and listen.

     There is nothing more important than this moment, and I have all of the time in the world.    

     Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives in Connor with her husband, Dale, and their Goldendoodle, Barney Rubble.   You may contact Belinda online at dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.