She is 7 now or 49 in dog years. I am 56 and on her birthday she will catch me ... and then in no time at all she will pass me by.
Siting there her eyes lock on me as I write, panting and laying on the coolness of the tile floor. After sleeping, I think her favorite thing is watching me. She sleeps in the floor on my side of the bed at night, welcomes me whenever I walk in the door, waits on me on the bottom step when I walk out of the door and follows me around.
She minds when I tell her to stop, likes to sit under my feet when I'm working and somehow knows what day I'm returning when traveling.
We've been through a lot together and sometimes we were the only things we had to get through. She was rescued from a box on the side of the road as a puppy, learned to trust by sitting in my lap every night, and I laid on every step when she took her tentative step when she first climbed them.
Initially I wanted to name her God. I thought it sent a great theological message that God is indeed a woman. It's dog spelled backwards. And I thought it would be funny to call her, "GOD! GOD! Dammit come inside right now! Divine intervention happened I suppose and she became Goddess.
When I was suddenly single, she never left my side, understanding somehow that she'd been left too. She'd lay with me when I cried, licking away tears and would sleep in the bedroom doorway protecting me from whatever might come after me in the night. We'd take long meandering walks together often ending together on Shirley's sad little holy dock.
My brilliant daughter-in-law Marie taught Goddess how to sit, shake, lay down and mostly roll over. My neighbor Art gives her treats every day on our afternoon walks. She loves company, greeting them enthusiastically before boring and falling asleep at their feet.
Now she plays with Winston, the little gay dog, and the two of them go crazy when Sarah's girls get home from school. They vie for Sarah's attention and she rewards them with food from the table. When we take them for walks together people ask, "Is that Winston, the little gay dog? Is that Goddess?"
Several years ago when my life was in upheaval, my friend Johnny O advised, "Get rid of the dog!" and I was horrified. A short while later he apologized, saying, "I was wrong." People on the island acknowledge that she is special.
I can't imagine my life without her. It would be like not having Sarah. It would be like losing Jeremy, Kristen or Chelsea. It would be like losing a part of me.
Though that day will come, I'm going to keep living in the moment. Besides she and I are going to be the same age for a little while and that's a hell of an excuse to celebrate! The only thing we can be sure of is this moment, the people who are in our lives and what we do with both.
My life is at the right place at the right time with the right people ... all of which has been overseen by the most perfect dog I could have ever loved.
