Nature Journal: Memories
Today we put my dog Beau down. He’s had cancer for a while now and for the last couple months he’s continually lost weight. I got a call last night from my mom informing me that he couldn’t stand up. So naturally, I left what I was doing to be with my dog in his last hours. When I arrived it was clear that he was going to have to be put down. My family didn’t seem to agree – he’d be fine in the morning right? I slept by his side, waking up periodically to make sure he was still breathing. But morning came and he wasn’t better. I talked my parents through the euthanasia process – something I’ve seen quite a few times in my time as a pre-veterinary student. I was surprised by a cold unfeeling and a momentary panic that my future career was going to leave me without emotion or soul. But things are different when it’s your dog.
When the lights that leave those eyes are the same ones you’ve cherished for the last eleven years it isn’t the same at all. This animal isn’t a client you’ve just met – he’s your family. The emotions you feel aren’t empathy or sympathy. They’re real, they’re yours and they’re strong. So sure enough when the time came, I found myself emotional, teary-eyed, and secretly grateful that my previous experiences with putting animals down hadn’t robbed me of my chance to grieve. We took him home and buried him in a small corner of the front yard. While digging his grave, we came across some of the bones of Ginger, our Golden Retriever who had died over five years earlier. I felt like Dr. Brennan from Bones– torn between the emotion of the moment and the intrigue of the science before me –wondering how such a bare frame held something I loved so much and amazed at how the beautiful arrangement worked so perfectly.
We held a little funeral service. Each of us went around sharing our favorite memories of Beau. I loved his intelligence and his mischief. My mom could see him as a puppy. Matt saw the adorable father he was and the ridiculously cute puppies he sired. Meagan thought of the ‘weddings’ we had performed for him and Ginger, and later him and Bailey. And Mitch reminded us of his great temperament and never-ending companionship. We sat on hallowed ground as tears streamed down our reminiscent faces.
All this got me thinking. What makes this small spot of dirt tucked behind our trees and corned by our fence so sacred to me? The remains of two animals? What makes these animals so special as pets or this house as my home? Memories & Relationships. We take parts of our souls and we infuse them with the world around us. We feel, breathe, and live in these places. They are as much a part of us as we are a part of them. We are a relationship-oriented species. We bond with the homes, animals, and landscapes we associate with. We have pets because they freely give the companionship we seek and reflect our own wishes and desires. We form nations because we first developed mutual bonds with each other. Our art and our words scream these relationships. And with these relationships there are times we won’t forget, moments that inspired us. Ones that made us laugh, cry, cringe, or hide. The never-ending cascades of memories continue to strengthen these relationships. This is what makes space place, house home, and pet family. I wrote earlier about the connectedness of the world. But it isn’t just ecological connectedness that makes this world beautiful. This world is beautiful because we, as humans, have formed these relationships with everyone and everything around us.
When camping you are always told to ‘leave it better than you found it.’ Ecologically speaking, I think we only know enough to limit how much we mess it up. At best, our efforts are really just to make the land ‘prettier’ than it was when we came. But spiritually and emotionally? I hope we form bonds with each piece of land we visit and each animal we encounter. I hope our souls communicate with those around us. And I hope it does leave both parties better. So here’s to you Beau: you certainly did just that.
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