I Hope All Dogs Go To Heaven

Kira outside our home in  Lipa, Batangas. 2009.

Only now, do I allow myself to grieve.  Monday it was, when we were told the incomprehensible news that our dog, Kira, just died.  We just went to the grocery. She was barking as usual. She ate her dog food as she normally does.  When we were gone, she too, left - for good. She took a nap, and didn't wake up.  There wasn't even time to say good-bye, and thank you, and sorry.  And I did not grieve then.  I had a job interview the next day, and had to prepare my teaching-demo.  I realize now, how good I am at blocking off emotions, and focusing on what I need to get done.  I proceeded with my day as though nothing had happened.  But today, I release what I blocked off yesterday, and as I write this, I feel not only Kira's loss, but all those other dogs I've lost in my life.  In some ways, the heart learns with practice, like all other muscles of the body, it has memory, and it toughens up over time.  It becomes strong and resilient - but not numb.  The pain is still felt.  I know the drill. I will cry and mourn, and it will pass.  I will add her to the list of souls to look for in the after life.

Kira and I, both pregnant. Lipa, 2009.

When I told Narra the news, she asked: "Is it the mama dog that died?".  She sees our dogs as a reflection of our family configuration: there's a papa dog, mama dog, and baby dogs.  "Yes"..."the Mama died".  And I felt it in my gut.  Kira was my canine counterpart. I was pregnant when Oliver got her as a mate for his German Shepherd.  Soon, she was pregnant too.  After I gave birth, she too gave birth to 6 pups.  We were both first time moms.  When Kira came, she was this beautiful creature, agile and strong, and so smart! She was trained to follow commands, not just to sit and shake hands, but also to jump up the fence, and to patrol it! She'd strut on our wall, a vision of poise, confidence, and balance.  Oh how we admired her! She reeked of youth and energy.  After she gave birth though, her body sagged, and breast feeding her brood seemed to take its toll.  I commiserated with her then, and saw in her, a bit  of myself and what I was going through.  I remember this moment, I sat on the steps outside the house, and just looked into her eyes, and told her "hang in there, Kira, it will all be fine", she was resting, her loose tummy collapsing to the floor as she lay on her side.  

Kira, patrolling our fence, on command. 2009.

Dogs giving birth.  They seem to be a recurring fixture in my life line.  SANDY.  In Spain in 2001, my sister Marion, picked a stray dog and made her family, we called her Sandy (after the scruffy dog in Annie).  She turned out to be pregnant - and that was a headache - we looked for a new home for her and her pups, and found a Filipina friend with a farm in Denmark! The day before the road trip to her new home, she gave birth! To 4 puppies. But apparently 3 more puppies were left in her tummy. She was slowly dying from the complication.  We ran to the vet, she was operated on, our savings from teaching English all summer disappeared in a flash. Dog and puppies, and all our belongings were packed in the car, and we began our road trip from Spain, through France, and Germany, to the the north of Denmark! Aalborg it was, where our friends Cynthia and Erik agreed to take in Sandy and her puppies.  I was bottle feeding the puppies on the road, while hand-feeding Sandy who was recovering from her operation.  One puppy died in my hands, he was the runt in the pack and simply didn't want to open its mouth to feed.  I couldn't offer life to a creature who didn't want to live. We buried it on the side of the road somewhere in France - or Germany. When we arrived in Denmark, I had to leave her there - the dog for whom I felt so much love.  She was barking hysterically when I turned around and walked away.  We had a long road trip back to Spain - and I saw the rest of Germany, Austria, Italy, and France through teary eyes. 

Kira's pups, 1-day old. 2009.

COLLETTE. Christmas day, 2010. She was pregnant, and had just given birth to two puppies.  We couldn't find a vet anywhere, it being Christmas eve.  Collette, our smart and bubbly poodle, had given birth before and she was an excellent mother. She'd lick her pups and feed them.  But something was wrong.  This time, she didn't even lift her head. She didn't open her eyes. I tried to coax her to fight to live.  By midnight, she was gone. She left us her Christmas orphans, and we tried to keep them warm and desperately tried to get them to feed.  They didn't make it through the night.  It was a very sad Christmas.  My parents are still caring lovingly for Collete's kin that's left with us.

I can only imagine how Oliver feels about losing Kira.  He has his own life stories of great connections with his canine companions, stories that are only his to tell.  I talk to Oliver about everything - almost, but death and loss always leaves me tongue tied.  I never quite know what to say to him, or how, or whether I should even bring it up. So I keep quiet. Because it seems the right thing to do when one has no words of comfort to offer anyway.  There's a void. A gap. A hole. An emptiness. There's an empty spot where she used to sit. There's death. She's not just a dog, she's family, and she's gone.  

Kira, I am sorry I was unable to say a proper good-bye.  If I had the chance, I'd say sorry I neglected you. I'd say thank you for spending time with us. I'd say I love you for being the inspiring and beautiful specimen you are. I'd say, I will miss you, and always remember you, like all our other dogs, wonderful creatures all, who came into our lives and made us better people.  You were a very good dog, and deserve, in every way, to be in heaven.  So, I guess this is it. Good-bye.