Rudyard Kipling wrote a beautiful piece that was titled “The Power of the Dog”. My favorite line in it is, “So why in heaven (before we are there), should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?”
We’ve had a rough few weeks, here in Wyoming.
About five years ago, when we lived in Chattanooga, we had to put our beloved 17-year-old dog, Knox to sleep. We had gotten him as a puppy from the animal shelter, before we had any kids. And then, every baby (all five) we brought home from the hospital, he lovingly accepted and endured. You’ve never met a sweeter dog. When kidney failure and blindness took over, we knew it was time for him to sleep. We buried him in our back yard, and he ended up later being one of the hardest things to leave when we moved to Wyoming.
Within a few months, we found a couple boxer mix puppy siblings, who desperately needed a home. We took them, and named them Luther and Katie. They quickly grew out of being able to be indoor dogs, so they were confined to our fenced-in back yard, in St. Elmo, which was not very big. But they were loved.
So then, we moved to Wyoming. My husband's folks graciously drove our moving truck, with Luther and Katie in their kennels, the 1,300 miles out here. My father-in-law took them out at rest stops, and faithfully walked and fed them at the hotels. When they got here, they were ecstatic. They now had almost five acres to roam, plenty of bones to dig up, prairie dogs and rabbits to chase, holes to dig, snow in the winter in which to play, and beautiful wind and sun in which to bask in the summer.
They had their funny quirks, too. If we told Luther to “sit,” he’d turn around, and sit on our feet. If we told Katie the same, she’d turn over on her back, and want her tummy scratched. Luther would go into his kennel after he finished eating, with his back turned to the outside, waiting for Katie to finish eating. They both thought they were lap dogs, and gave us many hours of chuckles, when they'd crawl up on us. They were so very loved by all of us.
They were also my co-workers and companions. I work at home, and I depended on their company, out on a vast prairie, by myself. They were loved by the UPS guys and the garbage men, who always had treats for them.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, when we had relatives in town, Luther bit our nephew, resulting in 31 stitches. Out here, there’s not a choice, with putting a dog to sleep, after a dog-on-human attack. And because we had no idea which dog had instigated the attack, the vet advised strongly that Katie be put to sleep as well. It was with very heavy hearts that we did so.
There’s something so much more traumatic when putting animals down this way. These were dogs who were loved, adored, and healthy one day, and the next day, we were getting their paw prints in the mail.
So we waited a couple of weeks, to do some grieving and healing. But very quickly, we realized we couldn’t be without a dog in our family. We started looking at pictures from the local shelter, and found one, Darby, a one-year-old, whom we loved. We planned on going on Father’s Day, but when I went to turn in the paperwork, there was another family looking at her. I snapped her up, and brought her home.
So now, we have a sweet Beagle/Pekingese mix, and have named her Zwingli. I’ll explain the name another time. The sweet girl is going to be spoiled rotten, I can say for sure. My kids are fighting to take her for a walk, sleep with her, or teach her new tricks, and she's eating it up.
After so many tears, and many “Luther/Katie Moments” (those times when you remember your missing friends), of which we’ve had many, we’ve given our hearts to another dog to tear.
The Power of the Dog
By Rudyard Kipling
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passsion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart to a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find--it's your own affair--
But ... you've given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-term loan is as bad as a long--
So why in--Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
(Jen Gienapp and her husband, Andy, made the move from Chattanooga to Cheyenne, Wyoming, in 2011. She can be reached at emmegab@gmail.com)
Zwingli