May 15, 2007
From the desk of Jane Galt:What. The. Fuck.
I've never sworn on this blog before . . . this is a family blog, as I like to say. (Hi Dad! Hi Aunt Cathy!) But somehow, other words are just inadequate.
Other people's grief is always opaque, particularly on a blog like this, where I rarely post about my personal life. I, like everyone else, have occasionally thought that someone else was overdoing it. And yet, never in my most fevered moments of nannying self-superiority, have I even dreamed of saying as much to them. I mean, after all, if I think someone is being too sad, making them sadder by pissing all over their grief doesn't seem like the right response; and also, I have manners.
Plus, you never really know what's actually going on in another person's heart, do you? For example, the person to whom you have just taken it upon yourself to instruct in the inappropriateness of their sadness might, in the last year, have finally seen the end of a long-term relationship, had her parents get divorced and sell her childhood home, had her remaining grandparent move to assisted living and sell that childhood home, been evicted from her own apartment, left the city she grew up in and lived in for thirty years, and generally lost every stable thing in her life except for the bullmastiff who has been her constant companion since graduate school. She might have gone on what was supposed to be a cheering day trip to Philadelphia which turned into a three day nightmare of vet visits, culminating in a 1:30 am phone call to tell her that her beloved companion needed surgery, followed by a 2:30 am consultation with the surgeon, a 3:00 phone call to announce that the dog had gone into cardiac arrest, and a 4:00 phone call to say that the dog couldn't be saved and do you want to come down and watch us put him to sleep, or do you just want us to go ahead without you? Alone, in the dark, in a strange house and a strange city, she might have been, oh, I don't know, somewhat upset. And so she might have posted to her blog a poem about grief--about the terrible moment when nothing else matters to you but the fact that a slice of love has gone out of the world.
If you didn't know all of this . . . and had the paucity of empathy and imagination that apparently leads some people to believe that they can divine the contents of another person's heart based on a single poem they posted in an emotional moment at 4 am, you might incorrectly conclude that she was posting the poem, not to share her sadness (and a work of genius about a universal emotion), but to send the message "Losing my dog is exactly like losing a person I loved".
Indeed, you might even take it upon yourself to note, in the comment section, that dogs are not people. Ummm . . . okay, well, thank you, Dr. Insight. Who said they were, other than some alterna-Jane in someone's fevered imagination? I'm not grieving for my dog the way I would for a parent; I'm grieving the way one does for a dog, who was loyal and trusting and loving, and loved. I'm not sad because now he'll never fulfill his dreams of going to med school, or get married and have children. I'm sad because he was a constant presence in my life, and because like children, he was capable of pure joy, and of transmitting a little of it to others. I'm sad because I keep thinking I should give him some leftovers, or hearing something that sounds like him sighing, because he will never again chase balls in the yard with maniac glee, and because the couch sure seems empty without him curled up next to me. Suddenly all the ways in which the dog has ordered my life have evaporated, and every time I slip into one of those empty spaces, I miss him terribly.
Obviously I do not think that losing a dog is like losing a person; no one sane believes that the two things are the same, though I grant you that some people do make creepy implications (calling themselves their dog's "mom") in that direction. Losing a dog or a cat is in some sense sadder, because they don't understand what is happening to them, because they live such a little time, and because with a pet, you generally have to choose the moment of their death. And in many other ways it is not nearly as sad, because they have no dreams or aspirations to die with them; because one can never be as close to an animal as to (some) sentient beings; and because hey, everyone's a little bit speciesist. But psychologists will be happy to tell you that we use the same basic mental equipment that loves people to love our pets, even if we can never love them as fully as we love people; and when they leave us, the same basic mental facility that grieves for people helps us scar over the hole our animals leave behind them. It's not some completely alien process that has no business being compared to human death; it's a difference of degree, not kind.
Indeed, a woman in my old building who had recently lost, first a daughter, and then a dog, told me at the time that at first the pain was much the same. The difference, she said, was that with a dog, you got over it eventually. I have no idea, because Finnegan is the only daily presence in my life who has died. But she wasn't some unfulfilled spinster using her dog as a child substitute, and thank you very much, neither am I; I have never referred to myself as my dog's "mom", or thought of him as anything other than a beloved animal. Any normal person should have enough love in them to bestow it on people, and pets, without needing either to hoard it for the more deserving species, or equate the two.
My dog died. I'm sad. I'm not as sad as I would be if my mother died, but why do so many people seem to believe that it is therefore inappropriate to be sad at all? I mean, sure, maybe I'm an over the top hysteric who is prostrated by grief for unworthy objects . . . but it's just as possible that you're a spiritually stunted emotional troll so incapable of love that you only miss your Mom as much as I miss my dog.
Or maybe we should know a little bit more about each other before we start passing judgement?
Human beings aren't very good at grief, especially in others. We hate it, and fear it, and so we want to belittle it. Or we strive desperately for something to say that isn't so . . . trite, so banal, so meaningless in the face of pain. This is why death and illness present such an excellent opportunity for alienating family members and losing friends. When my grandfather died -- and I do hope that my commenters think it was all right for me to be sad about that? -- I was shocked by the number of perfectly awful comments that were made to me by people who gave every appearance of meaning well. ("Hmmm. Well, we all have to go sometime, right?" was probably the least offensive of these, or else the mangled sentiment that "there must have been some reason that God wanted him dead".)
So I understand that not all of the commenters enjoining me to lighten the hell up, because hey, it was just a dumb dog, aren't meaning to say "Hey, while you're really sad, have I mentioned that I think you're an asshole?" Unfortunately, that's what you're communicating, and not just to me; there's a reason that most of the people in the comment section aren't leaping in to agree with you.
Conventions are conventions for a reason. In this case, the reason for the rule that after any sort of death or accident, you say either something highly conventional, or nothing at all, is that it keeps you from making a bad situation worse. It's not that I'm heartbroken about it; I'm a big girl, and I've long understood that as long as I blogged, a lot of perfect strangers were going to think I was an asshole, and say so frequently. But I found the cheery callousness of some of those comments so utterly amazing that it seemed impossible to let them pass without response.
I should also note that all the hackneyed, dull, traditional comments: "I'm so sorry"; "How awful"; "I felt terrible when I lost my dog", "you're in my prayers" and so forth have meant a tremendous amount. They're semantically empty, perhaps, but they convey something that is never empty, namely that other human beings know, and care, how you're feeling.
Jane - You might want to disable comments on this post cause you are 110% right. I have a feeling though a few people might continue on in the same vein they did in the last post. Once again as a fellow dog owner, my condolences.
Posted by: Brian Despain on May 15, 2007 8:44 PMThere is something so trusting and guileless and devoted about an old family dog that makes his or her death so sad. Even more so when the pup was a friend to an old person or a part of the family when you were growing up. We were forced to realize that our old lab wasn't going to make it to 15, and we had to take him to the vet to end his life. My wife and I were in a teary daze after we walked out of the vet after our dog breathed his last.
But what a good dog.
Posted by: Rich Berger on May 15, 2007 8:47 PMI never cease to be amazed at what people will do under the cover of pseudo-anonymity.
I vote for moving to what deansworld does - nothing but eponymous comments. If you have something to say, you have to put your name by it. Period.
Posted by: Aaron on May 15, 2007 9:03 PMIt's an occupational hazard of blogging that you expose yourself to the feedback of a vast number of morons, assholes, idiots, jagoffs, and other assorted, worthless people who aren't worth your time. And by writing this 100% correct essay, you give them more attention than they're due. They deserve neither a public response, nor any more of your headspace.
I'm sorry about the passing of your beloved pet.
Posted by: Justin JJ on May 15, 2007 9:09 PMI didn't leave a comment in the last thread because I couldn't say anything that wasn't hackneyed and dull, and I didn't think that would help. But since you say it does, I want to let you know that I'm sorry your dog died too.
Posted by: bgates on May 15, 2007 9:15 PMWell. I am of course sorry to read of the loss of your companion, and the other difficult experiences you have recently encountered. I have endured all of them as well, and can be sure that having all of them occur within a short time span must be particularly painful. Know that you are loved by those that truly know you, and appreciated by those of us who only "know" you via this forum.
As to the ill-mannered sorry excuses for people that appeared in the previous thread, well, if nothing else, they provide insight as to why Twain referred to, in his latter years, "the Goddamned Human Race".
Sheesh.
Posted by: Will Allen on May 15, 2007 9:28 PMShorter Jane: Go fuck yourselves, you emotional trolls.
You don't need to make any excuses, Jane. Love is love. It matters not whether it is directed towards a human or a pet. Grieving over a lost loved one still rips your heart out.
My heart-felt sympathies. We have a Dalmatian who is hanging in there, despite age and injuries. But I know it's only a matter of time. It will hurt my wife more than me, when the time comes. But I don't belittle or begrudge her love for Bandit. Don't allow anyone to do that to you.
Posted by: NukemHill on May 15, 2007 9:29 PMMy deep sympathies over the loss of your dog. I'm sure the pain is immense.
I dread the day that my two pups pass away. I doubt that I will deal with as much equanimity as you have.
Regarding "dogs are not people" - while it's absolutely true, it doesn't address the question of whether the pain of a loved pet passing can equal the pain of a loved person passing. I'm sure that it can.
Posted by: TJIC on May 15, 2007 9:43 PMThe Story of Rainbow Bridge
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals that had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....
--Author Unknown
Posted by: RKN on May 15, 2007 9:47 PMSorry for your loss. I hope the blog's a bit of wake, allowing you to repair to conventions when the hurt is overwhelming.
This post reminded of my dad who grew up poor in the Depression, dug ditches for CCC, flew bombing missions in WWII, was an independent business person. I once saw bang his thumb with a hammer and barely flinch. It would have never occurred to me that he knew how to cry until our beagle, Jonesy, was hit by a car. I happened on him in the study collecting himself. "You do grow attached to them." was all he could bring himself to say.
I've often remembered the encounter as strong emotion barely held in check yielding his understatement. But I now understand him better. We connect with animals differently to be sure than we do with the people we love, but, not in every single way in an inferior fashion to the people we love. Like a friend with whom you share a particular bond about Nascar, your first job, whatever. A connections born that isn't duplicated by those other fuller relationships.
Posted by: Brien on May 15, 2007 9:51 PM
People are assholes.
I almost felt sick going back and just reading those comments - I shouldn't have.
Posted by: Leah on May 15, 2007 9:53 PMJane:
Wasn't your description of "I'm so sorry" as "hackneyed, dull...semantically empty" a bit harsh (particularly because those were the comments you _liked_)?
When my wife's former husband, Bob, was killed in a motorcycle accident several years ago, it fell upon me to track down and notify (a) Bob's father, (b) Bob's other former wife, and (c) those of Bob's children (my step-children) who didn't already know. What I discovered is that "I'm so sorry" is about the only reasonable thing you _can_ say in those situations; any attempt at comfort, reassurance, or 'feel-good' is less than useless in those moments.
And I am so sorry, and I do know something of what you're going through. On Christmas Eve 2005, I let our three MinPins out the side door to use the lawn. Shirley, the smallest and feistiest of the three, got to the edge of the lawn, saw something in the darkness, and ran after it, barking. I had to grab sandals and a flashlight to follow her into the field. It took me 15 minutes to find her; she was still alive, but in shock, wounded, and unable to move (to this day, I don't know what attacked her). Sandra and I rushed her to the animal ER, where we found out that her spine was snapped as well, and so we had her put to sleep.
I was devastated, both because I felt responsible (I usually had the sandals+flashlight ready before I let them out at night) and because Shirley was the most intelligent, fascinating pet I had ever owned. It hurt for months; in fact, the pain did not fully go away until we got two new MinPins, Howling Wingnut (Winnie) and Barking Moonbat (Marti), in October of last year (see http://and-still-i-persist.com/?cat=15).
Having nine children (combined families), I know full well the difference between pets and children; as I've told others, I wouldn't bury one of my children in a shoebox in the front yard. But I am also very much aware of (and fascinated by) the unique emotional bond between dogs and humans, and the cost that exacts when the dogs die.
I am so sorry. ..bruce..
Are dogs as good as (or better) than humans? Megan might not think so, but hell - I've yet to meet a dog as insensitive as some of the pricks who commented on her last post.
My sincerest condolences for your loss. My husband had to put his childhood dog/best friend down right after our wedding and I think it was the hardest thing he's ever had to do; I can't even begin to imagine losing our puppy. Finnegan deserved your joy, and now he deserves your grief.
Posted by: Jessica on May 15, 2007 9:56 PMThe companionship of a dog is unconditional and uncomplicated, and for that reason it is a wonderful thing. One never has to worry about the emotional turbulence that arises from human relationships. Even those times the family dog acts in a contrary way are not because of any thoughts of malice or personal gain, but simply because instinct wins out; an often forgivable fault.
It is true that humans cannot connect with a family dog as deeply as another human, but that does not lessen the profound impact of losing such unconditional and steadfast companionship.
My sincerest condolences for your loss.
Posted by: Inquiring on May 15, 2007 10:24 PMYou go girl!
Anyone whose heart wasn't wrenched reading about your sincere (and wholly righteius) pain clearly lacks that most human emotion of empathy.
Those of us who feel refreshed and cleansed by the level-headed sensibilities of Jane Galt know that you will grieve deeply and fully, as is only right to repay Finn's selfless love, and then you will gather yourself as the indomintable woman you are and carry on bringing reason to a mad mad world.
So tell huh & shouting tommy boy to kiss your @$$, go grieve, and come back to us when you're ready.
Posted by: Gary McDaniel on May 15, 2007 10:46 PMFrankly, Megan, fuck them. I didn't respond because I had just been through a similar pet crisis and couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound inadequate to me. And reading about the Rainbow Bridge has just reduced me to tears.
Anyone who doesn't understand this is to be despised. And pitied.
Now, that said, dear Megan, have you thought about finding a counselor? On a life stress scale of 1 to 100, you've just described about a 962.
Posted by: Charlie (Colorado) on May 15, 2007 10:49 PMMegan,
I just want to offer my condolences for the passing of your dog, and express my sympathy for the difficult situation you have been in as a result of the events of the last few months in your life.
Hopefully, things will get better in time.
As for the idiot trolls who commented on your earlier post, there is little to say but to join in the general condemnation of them and invite them to take their trolling elsewhere.
Posted by: Ilya Somin on May 15, 2007 10:58 PMThank you for sharing. Your fond memories of Finnegan allow me to bask in the love I shared with my best friend growing up- Morgan dog. It's unfortunate that I find myself only thinking about him when others feel similar loss, but there's something very communal about mourning.
Thanks again for sharing, Megan.
Posted by: djconnor on May 15, 2007 11:07 PMNot all dog owners are alike. Some, like some sheep rancher friends of mine, consider a dog to be a working companion. To my friends, a dog was livestock, cared for, trained, depended on, and replaced every so many years. They enjoy their dogs very much, and get attached to some of them.
For many others, though, a dog is a companion of the heart. Or cat, or whatever pet may be.
I saw your poem, got the gist in the first few lines, and moved on. At that moment I didn't need the full writing, but I understood why it spoke to you, and why you shared it. Thanks for thinking of us, and I am sorry for your loss.
No one can measure another's emotions, not joy, sadness, grief, denial, anger, acceptance, comfort, nor terror or insecurity. The mildest term that comes to my mind is 'bullying'. Certainly disrespectful, too.
Posted by: Brad K. on May 15, 2007 11:08 PMWasn't your description of "I'm so sorry" as "hackneyed, dull...semantically empty" a bit harsh (particularly because those were the comments you _liked_)?
I'm neither good enough or calm enough to find the properly soothing way to say this: you're misreading Jane's tone in that sentence. And it's honestly not her fault. She's saying, in paraphrase, "People think of these homilies as hackneyed, dull and semantically empty, and on some level I suppose they are, but they meant a lot to me."
Posted by: Jim Henley on May 15, 2007 11:17 PM"I've yet to meet a dog as insensitive as some of the pricks who commented on her last post."
Clearly you haven't been around too many dogs. Some of them bite. Rather painfully too. But if insulting others was your goal you did get your digs in.
Posted by: stan on May 15, 2007 11:18 PM"I mean, sure, maybe I'm an over the top hysteric who is prostrated by grief for unworthy objects . . . but it's just as possible that you're a spiritually stunted emotional troll so incapable of love that you only miss your Mom as much as I miss my dog."
At some more appropriate time, I'll tell you how I fell in love with you a little bit when I read those words. One (admittedly small, in the scheme of things) bright spot to come out of this has been two of the best (most moving followed by most incisive) postings I've encountered anywhere. But I'm sure that's no comfort right now.
I am sorry about your dog. I haven't had the honor of caring for one yet, but plan to.... Wanting a dog as much as I do, I feel like I can empathize, but I'm sure that's an illusion.
Thank you for doing what you do here; I wish there were a way for me (us) to repay it with some comfort, but I feel pretty helpless. And I'm sorry about the real bastards who're being derisive. But I'm pretty helpless there too. (Grwl... anonymous bastards are the worst bastards of all. Little SHoutIng ThomaS and huh should piss off 'till they can sack up and use their names.)
Posted by: Joe Bingham on May 15, 2007 11:29 PMJane,
So sorry about your loss, and the other events in this annus horribilis. Like my brother once told me when I suffered a confluence of bad luck some years back, "Hey, it can only get better from here." It was hackneyed and pointless, but it turned out to be true.
Warm regards.
Posted by: M. Hodak on May 15, 2007 11:46 PMOn those occasions when I've lost someone, I can't help but think of the others I've lost, the things I should've said and the things I couldn't say, the things I didn't know I should've said until it was too late. In this way, loss is cumulative; to grieve one loss is to be reminded of all the others.
Megan, I'm so sorry.
Posted by: dedalus275 on May 15, 2007 11:53 PMThe lowest dog I ever met carried himself far better then trolls on the previous thread ever have.
Jane,
I hope your year makes a sharp turn for the better.
Posted by: TJIT on May 16, 2007 1:08 AMI'm totally nonplussed by this. Losing a pet is like losing any loved one -- they are part of your life, and we have very strong bonds with them. What kind of twisted person would say that you shouldn't be sad, or that it could be worse? At an emotional level, it doesn't get any worse.
Posted by: Tim Lundeen on May 16, 2007 1:50 AMI am sorry for your loss.
I'm sorry some of our fellow humans are lacking in empathy and compassion and manners and dignity.
Posted by: MarkD on May 16, 2007 7:45 AMI'm sorry to hear about your dog, and all of the other problems you've had to deal with. And like several other folks, I'm even more sorry I didn't take a minute to say so in the last thread.
(And in honor of Jane being in Philly, let me just add this for certain commenters in the other thread:
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!)
On some level I feel for the kind of person who's heart is so small that they use another's grief to score some kind of point. I hope they are hanging their heads in shame this morning, but I fear perhaps not.
I was one of those who left the simple "I'm sorry, you have my deepest sympathy" comments. I, too, know that it helps. I lost my 15-year old dog during my own "worst year ever" in 2001. At her age, I was prepared for this, or so I thought. I feel that I understand your grief, and the thought of you being lectured for it makes my blood boil.
Again, I'm sorry for your loss. This astonishing rudeness will pass, and I hope that what will remain with you are the expressions of sympathy and understanding that most on here have given.
Posted by: Chris Anderson on May 16, 2007 10:22 AMIt's very hard to say goodbye. Our animal companions exemplify the kind of unconditional love that often eludes us in our human relationships. I know you love Finnegan deeply and I'm very sorry for your loss.
Posted by: Matthew C. on May 16, 2007 10:23 AMActually, I tend to think that the ability to love and have compassion for even those that are manifestly different from us is a marvelously human quality and its opposite is the horrible lack of compassion for even those that we should easily be able to understand.
I am so sorry for your loss.
Posted by: Rachel on May 16, 2007 10:23 AMMegan,
You improve all our lives with your insight, humor, and even at times with your biting sarcasm about trolls. I am sorry you have lost a pet, and that your life is at the moment distinctly worse. I am sorry for you.
And yet you still improve ours. There seems to be an awful lot of people quite fond of the parts of your self that you show on this blog. So from this stranger, please accept condolences, as well as thanks.
Posted by: Kyle on May 16, 2007 10:24 AMMegan,
When I saw that you posted the poem, I figured there would be assholes loudly sharing their unwanted and inappropriate opinions (the favorite hobby of assholes, it seems). I don't think I'll go back and read them, as life is hard enough. I greatly respect (and get a kick out of) your ability to logically shred said commenters even while still suffering grief. Take that, assholes.
The past year (year and a half, really) has been very difficult for me as well, and I can easily imagine how an already difficult loss can be made even more exhausting by all that led up to it. I spent some of last year very purposefully listening to a song by the Mountain Goats, the defiant chorus of which is, "I am going to make it through this year if it kills me." The song didn't help all that much long-term, of course, but it was momentarily energizing each time I heard it. I hope things get better for you soon.
Best,
John
My initial thought at reading this post was "why bother responding to the pathetically rude, Jane?"
After reading it through, however, you were right to respond. Perhaps your words will enlighten some of those who dismissed your grief.
I am so sorry that now, at this already-difficult time in your life, your dog died. Mine got me through a horrible divorce, and I don't know what I would have done without his unconditional love and support. I'm even more sorry that there are people out there that would choose this occasion to piss all over you and your grief. God damn them all.
Posted by: Kevin on May 16, 2007 12:45 PMDeepest condolences Megan. Losing a pet is really awful, and I'm not sure that people who can't understand that are all that great at loving people.
Posted by: TW Andrews on May 16, 2007 1:07 PMI'm so sorry, Megan. We lost our much-loved golden retriever Bud on Christmas Eve 2004, and it took me a year to get over it. His ashes and collar are on a shelf just above me as I write this.
Reading "The Rainbow Bridge" helped. For some reason, just as Bud died, I began humming "All Through the Night." I'd always thought it was Christmas carol, but in fact it's a very sad song sung by a parent to a child who has died. Here's one of the last verses, one that I found comforting, and I hope you do too:
Hark, a solemn bell is ringing
Clear through the night
Thou, my love, art heavenward winging
Home through the night
Earthly dust from off thee shaken
Soul immortal shalt thou awaken
With thy last dim journey taken
Home through the night
I was completely appalled by those rude comments on the earlier post. This is a well-reasoned and written and appropriate reply. Again my condolences.
I thought of your situation last night. We have an 8 year old Black Lab and a year old Australian Shepherd. The Aussie will always come when called, but occasionally the Lab will just decide she is going to go somewhere and will not respond no matter what you do. Due to pack dynamics, the Aussie always feels like she has to accompany her.
Sure enough, last night at dusk, the Lab got away from me and both dogs took off at full speed. We live in a semi-rural area in Colorado and there are two packs of coyotes in the vicinity that you can hear at night. Wife is out of town on business, so I drove around and around looking for them to no avail. The Aussie showed up on the doorstep at 11 PM, exhausted, terrified and a wet ball of mud. That meant that they had crossed the major road to the south to get into the creek on the other side. The Lab finally came to the door at 2 AM, acting like she was wondering what the fuss was about.
How the coyotes didn't get them I'll never know.
Another poem, from Kipling - "The Power of the Dog"
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 passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And t he 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 still (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 the Christian clay,
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not alwatys 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-time 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?
Man, I love blogs, I'm amazed that occasionally people with real professional knowledge spew out ideas where I can go get them more or less for free. Wow. But for all the time I've loved 'em and am glad they exist I have nonetheless been a little awed that these same bright people are downright stupid enough to blog. You remind me why again today. My sympathy not just for the dog but for getting kicked around by dopes.
On a separate topic you are making one of the same mistakes they are (which just shows sometimes a person can make a mistake and be a real jerk, and other times another person can make the same mistake and, it's cool.) I would never say I'd be "less sad" if my dog died than my wife or mom or kid. I don't know that that's true in a useful way. I just don't have the yardsticks for that. I question whether anyone does. Either way it would be terrible and I'd decide how to deal with it. It's grief, and it's it's own thing, and obviously you _do_ different things to handle different kinds of grief, and that's what it is. It merits some respect. It's a shame that simple thing is so unrealized.
Posted by: Sanjay on May 16, 2007 2:41 PMWow, what a remarkable pair of jerks. My condolences, Jane.
Posted by: Bernard Guerrero on May 16, 2007 3:46 PMI'm very sorry about your dog, and that you had responses of the kind you did. This was a very eloquent, thoughtful and heartfelt post.
Posted by: jcd on May 16, 2007 4:29 PMAbout your dog. Been there, done that, alas. Five times in my life. Suxors, big time.
Some may not understand, but dogs are our friends. They respect us, they support us, they are steadfast. Some thousands of years ago, a dog walked up to a campfire and a human responded with affection, food and companionship. They returned that and made us members of the pack.
As others mentioned, Robert Louis Stevenson said it best: "You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us."
Posted by: ech on May 16, 2007 4:46 PMI lost the dog who had been my friend since 4th grade between my junior and senior years in college. He helped me get through the roughest patches of junior high and high school. I found out by telephone from my mom that he had had kidney failure, she took him to the veterinarian, and had to have him put to sleep. She drove home in the family minivan with his lifeless body and buried him in the back yard.
When I got off the phone with my mother I sobbed for the first and only time in my 35 years of life. It wasn't crying, it was sobbing . . . like a physical reaction. It lasted about 15 mins. I could remember thinking how strange it was as I lay curled up on my bed, but I just couldn't stop.
So screw anyone who wants to make light or minimize your grief. I still tear up when I think about my dog and his passing. Like I'm doing now.
RIP Bradley. I love you.
Posted by: Machiara on May 16, 2007 6:52 PMI lost the dog who had been my friend since 4th grade between my junior and senior years in college. He helped me get through the roughest patches of junior high and high school. I found out by telephone from my mom that he had had kidney failure, she took him to the veterinarian, and had to have him put to sleep. She drove home in the family minivan with his lifeless body and buried him in the back yard.
When I got off the phone with my mother I sobbed for the first and only time in my 35 years of life. It wasn't crying, it was sobbing . . . like a physical reaction. It lasted about 15 mins. I could remember thinking how strange it was as I lay curled up on my bed, but I just couldn't stop.
So screw anyone who wants to make light or minimize your grief. I still tear up when I think about my dog and his passing. Like I'm doing now.
RIP Bradley. I love you.
Posted by: Machiara on May 16, 2007 6:52 PM I am SO sorry that you lost your dog.
Sorry too that it happened in such a, well, crazy and lonely and unexpected way.
Anyone who has made any comments to you that are not in the nature of condolences or sincere offers of help over this loss is a J E R K. Nuff said.
As a pet lover, let me offer you my utmost sympathy. I am terribly attached to my pets also, and am devastated when anything bad happens to them.
Now - one more comment. I am NOT surprised that you've gotten such insensitive comments. I've been participating in on-line discussions for almost 10 years. For a long time, my list of "Debates that Bring Out the Worst in People" included:
Abortion
Gun Control
Homosexuality
Parents vs non Parents
Recently, I've had to add People Emotionally Attached to Pets vs People who are Oddly Offended by Said Attachment to the list. Why parents are so very THREATENED by this type of emotional attachment really puzzles me.
Posted by: ALP on May 16, 2007 9:31 PMAw Jane. I'm truly sorry for your loss. I don't know you nor your dog (just like the morons who posted nasty comments), but I know me and my dogs and I know terrible I felt as a kid and a college student when the dogs I grew up with passed on. "You look like your dog died" doesn't begin to cover it. I know if I lost either of my two that I have today, I'd be in a lot of hurt for quite awhile. And I also know that is inevitable given the relative lifespans of 36-year old people and big dogs.
There is a subtle point on which Mr. Blog Poster Dumbass is on the wrong side of. It is legitimate to invoke "it's a dog, not a human" in order to rationalize doing the right thing by the dog at the end of its life. It is not legitimate to invoke that sentiment to diminish the love, affection, and companionship that animals provide. Some people really, really suck. I'd be ashamed to be his kid (or his dog for that matter).
Posted by: Brad Hutchings on May 17, 2007 1:23 AMYou don't know me, Jane, but I enjoy your writing. I have come to know you a little bit through that writing.
And I know so well the pain of losing a beloved dog, and the nastiness of humans. Mark Twain's dictum comes to mind.
Here is something you SHOULD do. Go to the library, and pick up a copy of ANIMAL HAPPINESS, by Vicki Hearne. There is a short chapter called "Oyez a Beaumont," about the loss of a dog. Hell, it even quotes Rilke!
But I have seldom seen an essay that lays bare what beloved pets do for our humanity. The bad posters must not have had pets like you and I have had.
Read Hearne's chapter/essay. Please think about taking her advice---it is good advice.
Best wishes....
Posted by: Mark Martin on May 17, 2007 2:00 AMI don't know why I'm compelled to add to what has been such an amazing string, but I've been thinking about loss a lot lately.
The only comfort I've been able to find in the painful, hollow feeling left behind by the departure of anyone you've ever loved is that there's the small comfort that at least your were blessed to have them in your life for as long as you did, you got to know how wonderful they were, and that you can try to fill the emptiness in your heart with the happy memories you have of them.
Our pets provide us with plenty of happy memories; even the most aggravating moments, like the look your dog gives you when he looks up at you after pooping the rug, after the cleanup and enough time goes by, even that can be a memory that makes you smile. There may not be an afterlife we go to after we die, guess we'll all find out, but everything we've ever loved lives on through our happy memories of them. And I think we're blessed and fortunate to be left with them when they're gone.
Posted by: Michael on May 17, 2007 3:10 AMMegan, you are someone whose writing I enjoy and admire. However, that's not what's relevant here.
I am sorry for your loss.
Posted by: Acad Ronin on May 17, 2007 11:56 AMTo belittle another person's feelings is always hurtful and never helpful. It doesn't matter if the person is mourning the loss of a pet, or enduring some other stressor, it's NEVER right.
The cornerstone of civilization is empathy.
Posted by: Christina on May 17, 2007 12:10 PMIf nothing else, saddness, ire and humor mix quite nicely. Thank you.
Posted by: sgk on May 17, 2007 5:01 PMI have had many dogs and cats over the years. I am not reluctant to say that I have loved each and every one, and have grieved at each death. There is a void upon such a loss that should not be minimized. I believe that my pets have loved me in return. At the least, they have befriended me and shown me loyalty and pleasure in my company. I feel badly for you. What you are experiencing is normal and natural, and is a testament to your humanity.
Posted by: Leo on May 18, 2007 5:53 PMWow, very nicely put, in both senses. I'm not sure I would have held back that much. I'm just sorry that you had to do it.
Few things have been harder on me than having to consent to life-ending decisions for my companions. You will, however, get over it eventually. You are stronger than you may believe right now. Humans are capable of much deeper feeling for other living beings; unfortunately capable of suppressing those feelings, too; but also remarkably resilient when required to endure the full impact of a life, ended.
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Posted by: zvslci wxcfntgub on May 19, 2007 7:41 AMJane,
I am sorry for your loss.
Also, the coward who wrote that nasty stuff on his blog seems to have removed it.
"Plus, you never really know what's actually going on in another person's heart, do you?"
Yes, it's called empathy. Some call it love. But neither happens often. At least we don't have to add to the nastiness of the world.
Posted by: diana on May 19, 2007 2:29 PMIt appears that all of the less than sympathetic voices have been silenced.
Posted by: unknown on May 20, 2007 1:47 AMIt appears that all of the less than sympathetic voices have been silenced.
Posted by: unknown on May 20, 2007 1:47 AMI am so sorry for all the hurt of the last year. I tried to come up with something clever or original to say but nothing worked. But then I've never been as good a writer as you.
Posted by: Roger Sweeny on May 20, 2007 11:40 PMThis is why I don't post under my own name. I can't stand the trolls and can't stand the rudeness. I doubt I could stand to blog regularly despite having been asked to participate on a number of occasions. Blogging is one of those activities where I judge the cost/benefit ratio by heavily weighting the worst case scenarios. Yet somehow I can't restrain myself from echoing the other sympathetic responses you've received.
And I continue to be amazed that you write sensible, intelligent, opinionated prose in a medium that is often a haven for extremist twits with limited social skills and small hearts.
Your post has convinced me that -- should I ever choose to blog -- I will simply not allow comments of any sort.
May your days be filled with much happiness.
Posted by: nonames on May 21, 2007 10:39 AMA few years ago one of our cats became very ill. My husband and daughter took him to the vet, and called me at work to say that he had to be euthanized. Throughout the morning I cried, off and on, when I thought about him, but invariably a beautiful strain of music welled up in my head and comforted me. At last I followed up on that music to try to think what it was.
It was the "In Paradisum" from the Faure Requiem.
"For God's sake, Laura, it was a CAT," I told myself.
That afternoon on the way out of the city, when my kid and I went to my parent's house 1.5 hours away to bury him with the other family pets, I had to stop and gas my car. This particular gas station usually plays really loud, ugly rap music and we avoid it when we can. That day it was "Dust in the Wind" and I sang along as I gassed my car, and cried, and told myself again that it was JUST A CAT.
A couple of weeks later we visited a cat shelter, where my husband was selected by Miss Bonnie. One difference betw. people and pets - you don't replace people you've lost, but you can pets. The new ones aren't the same, but they don't have to be. They still heal your heart.
Posted by: Laura(southernxyl) on May 21, 2007 11:56 PMGlad to see the support. Anyone who doesn't understand obviously hasn't loved or been loved by a dog. They have been our companions as long as we have been human.
I was going to recommend Kipling's The Power of the Dog but I see my blog partner Reid already has. I will link to your post.
Posted by: Steve Bodio on May 22, 2007 7:58 PMComments are Closed.