We can rationalise, question, rationalise and question again, but we’re never prepared to say that final goodbye.
Then you realise it is his journey, not yours. Realise you have to let go. Realise it’s time to say goodbye. But it’s okay.
It’s called grieving. It’s called love. It’s called loss.
Bottom line though, my heart is breaking. Breaking into a million pieces. Breaking as though its never been broken before.
You’d think it’d get easier. But it dosen’t. Hurt is hurt, pain is pain, grief is grief.
And there was so much hurt, pain and grief at being told 8 weeks ago that our beloved Simon has a highly aggressive cancer. In the 8 weeks following, we have seen our beautiful boy succumb to this ferocious disease.
Our beautiful Simon aka Big-bigs came into our lives 6 years ago as a happy go lucky 9-year-old dachshund whose attitude was simply divine. He was in need of a new home following a divorce, and from the moment he set his furry paws on our doorstep, we became one and our family was complete.
Over the last 6 years we have been so lucky to have shared our lives with this beautiful, quirky, funny soul. He has lit up our lives and given us so much more than we have given him.
And now it’s time to let him trot, as only Big-bigs does, across the rainbow bridge where his soul will be forever free. Free to dig for bugs hidden deep within the dirt. Free to grumble at any other souls who try to take a favourite toy. Free to bark as loud as he can when playing in the pool.
We will love you forever, special soul. We are broken, but we are so blessed to have shared our lives with you.
Day 5 of my yoga practice saw the mind trying to conquer the body. I didn’t let it. Conversely, rather than trying to ignore negative thoughts, I acknowledged them, let them go and rolled out my mat.
Living in the southern hemisphere means summer is on the horizon, and the once cool spring mornings are now warm, making practice outside comfortable.
Whilst I live in a sub-tropical climate, it does get quite cool in the winter months and poolside, deck time is quite limited. Therefore as the weather warms, the option to be outside is greatly celebrated by my beloved sausages.
The appearance of my mat also causes great celebration, as does the child’s pose at the beginning of my session. The boys seem to think this is the signal for them to nuzzle into my face and shower me with wet, furry kisses.
Yet a sense of calm is soon established and they sit quietly listening to the birds herald in the new day, whilst I quietly continue my practice.
I find the challenge is not simply about becoming conversant with the various asanas, the real difficulty lies in having to watch the screen to ensure I’m doing the poses correctly. This impacts breathing and enjoyment.
Yet again, rather than letting the mind tell my body it’s too hard, I simply pause the video and take a few moments to breathe deeply and tell myself how well I’m doing.
Having read Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now, I know the importance of allowing yourself to be in the moment. And whilst there is part of me that yearns to practice as seasoned yogi’s do, I also realise the importance of enjoying the journey.
As Dory said in Finding Nemo, ‘just keep swimming…’
A dear friend messaged me the other day and spoke about how the best ideas are those that come from the heart. And when you follow those ideas with passion, those ideas are more often than not, successful.
For a very long time I had an idea, one that was born from love and driven by my passion for animals, in particular dachshunds, aka Sausage Dogs.
My idea was to create a space for Sausages to come and stay whilst their humans are away. A place where they feel loved, secure and a place where they socialise with my own beloved Sausages.
I have a house full of Sausages. Not the greasy, squishy, edible variety, but more precisely, the loveable, quirky Dachshund variety.
Having my home filled with four sausages was not something I’d ever planned: it just kind of happened, as most things do in life.
And it all started with Kiri, or Saus as she was affectionately called.
Saus was a beautiful mini-wire haired dachshund who came to live with me by chance 10 years ago.
After having had 3 litters (grrr) and still only 3 years old, she was apparently no longer of any ‘use’, therefore she was in desperate need of a new home. Mum had heard about her from a friend, so Mum called me asking if I’d consider adopting her. On hearing her story, I was more than happy to go and meet her to see if we got along.
The meet and greet did go well and Saus entered my life and touched my heart like no other. Her spirit had been severely broken at some point in her life, however she came to trust me and my love for her, in doing so, we became one.
There are no words to describe the depth of her beauty and my love. She was simply Saus, a beautiful, yet incredibly shy being who gave me permission to be the centre of her universe.
I am, and always will be humbled by her trust.
We shared 5 magical years together, years filled with so much love, so much laughter and so many discoveries of her quirky, sausage ways.
Her passion for cheese. Her need to burrow into her doggy sleeping bag and most of all, her great love of being in the car. She didn’t have to go anywhere, just getting in and being in the car was her pleasure.
It was the getting out and walking bit she didn’t fancy: and her hilarious antics surrounding getting in and being outof the car can be read about here.
But sadly, on one tragic summer morning, I lost my girl unexpectedly from complications of the heart.
I was devastated. And there are truly no words to describe my grief. In losing her, I too was lost.
She had become my world and when she died, part of me died with her. I was inconsolable.
Then the day after my Saus died, I had a call from a rescue organisation asking if I’d be interested in re-homing a male, mini-wire. My response was instant. No, I could not imagine taking on another right now.
Yet a good friend had other ideas.
Despite my inconsolable grief, my friend talked me into going to meet this little fellow. ‘Jen, you might need him as much as he needs you…’.
As I sat on the grass in a park where his current owners and I had agreed to meet, I watched Stanley (then known as Joey) jump out of the car and cautiously walk toward me. With his little wiry head darting from side to side, his body language seemed to scream fear, clearly he was frightened of what lay ahead.
Standing momentarily beside the man who held his lead, he looked around before tentatively walking toward me, cautiously sniffing the area around where I sat.
I didn’t speak, I simply let him do his thing. Then without warning, he climbed onto my lap and buried his head in my arms. I was completely taken aback, yet held him close, hoping my touch would lessen his fear.
A little while later I placed him gently on the grass, stood up and walked toward the picnic table to retrieve a bottle of water. Stanley followed and would not leave my side. At that moment I realised he had made his decision, I was his person.
So Stanley came to live with me, and just as my friend said, we needed each other. In his company, my grief over losing Saus slowly subsided and I believe his memory of a life less than perfect also faded.
Four years on, his loyalty has never waned.
However in the early days of him being with us, that loyalty also seemed to cause him to suffer from separation anxiety. Family told me that when I left the house without him, he would wait by the window, forever watching for my return.
And it was this anxiousness that led to Oscar’s arrival.
At the time I was also still working for an international airline as cabin crew, which had me jetting off to various destinations for up to 4 days at a time. This was hard for Stanley (and me, I might add), so I decided a companion may help ease his separation anxiety.
Enter Oscar aka Bear.
Oscar came to us as a pup, full of life and love and the perfect companion for Stanley. In an instant Stanley was his protector and the two became firm friends.
Whilst I’m told Stanley still ‘waits’ for me, it is not as prolonged as it was before Oscar’s arrival.
Oscar is a standard wire-haired dachshund, so now as an adult dog, he is quite a bit bigger than Stanley and gloompfs along like a big ole bear. And that’s how he came to acquire his nickname, Bear.
About two years after Oscar’s arrival I had another call from Devoted to Dachshund Rescue (D2DR) asking if I would foster a male black and tan smooth, whose family were going through a divorce and could not keep him. At nine years old Simon had only known one family, however within minutes of him coming to us, it was if we were that family. His owner dropped him off and he didn’t look back. Simon seemed to love being with his new brothers, so the decision to keep him was made and Simon became part of our family.
A year later I had another call. Would I foster again? Yes, of course, however Eddie was different. Whatever had happened to him was beyond tragic. You really have to wonder what possesses someone to subject a defenceless, sentient being to such cruelty.
Eddie, as we chose to later name him had been found in an industrial waste bin wrapped in wire. Extremely emaciated and terrified, he was allegedly taken to a pound where he stayed for 6 weeks before D2DR was called. On getting the call they drove 3 hours to retrieve him, and then called me.
When I first saw him I melted. The fear is his beautiful amber eyes was absolute. Ribs and spine protruded through his rich, copper coloured coat and on closer inspection, he had a severe overbite.
I knew that in time, his physical issues could be mended, yet his emotional trauma was another story and would obviously take time to heal. His fear of people was deep seeded, but interestingly, just as Stanley made me his person, it was my son Max that became Eddie’s.
Two years on, Eddie still has an intense fear of strangers and also being outside of his comfort zone: his home. Going for walks is not his thing, nor is being anywhere that involves mixing with people other than his own. He is content to be at home, with his family.
So now I have a house full of Sausages: and what a house it is…
On seeing this week’s photo challenge I thought of time spent driving through the French Alps with my son, Rob. After pulling over to take a few shots of the scenery, a little dog appeared. He didn’t bark, he didn’t protest our presence: he simply watched and waited.