At first, the changes were almost unnoticeable: a few moments of extra time spent sitting next to her on the floor, stroking the nearly heartbreakingly soft fur of her ears; a few minutes massaging her back or legs; the willingness to walk more slowly or to simply linger in one spot, content not to move at all.
The ravages of time and arthritis have made walking difficult for her. Some days are better than others, but there are times when I can tell it takes all she has to simply get up and walk to the back door. Now, as each week passes, I begin to realize how the pattern of our days has shifted to accommodate the needs of my sweet Liberty.
Everything has slowed down a bit, and I am hyperaware of her presence, wherever she is. I am not in such a hurry to bustle on past her to my next destination in the house; now I stop every time I pass her – if not to give her several minutes of quality petting time, at least to give her a gentle rub behind her ears. Our walks, when she is up for them, have become leisurely strolls up and down the street; the miles-long jaunts of her youth a distant, though lovely, memory for both of us. Now, as we slowly walk, I take the time to notice the fragrances that waft through the air, the beauty of a butterfly in flight, or the softness of the grass under my feet – things, I am embarrassed to say, I often overlooked in those early days when I would be focused simply on getting through the walk, rather than being part of it.
Now, when I can work from home, I set my laptop up so that I can be near her during the day. I work for a while, then reach down to stroke her head or tell her what a pretty girl she is. Although she sleeps for most of the day – partly the natural result of her age, but also enhanced by the numerous pain medications she takes, I want to be near in case she needs me. For those times when her legs don’t offer the steady foundation they should, I want to be there to support her, and to help guide her to wherever it is she wants to go. In the early mornings and in the evenings, I sit down next to her on the floor, wanting to find that place of pure presence that allows me to be completely with her – not distracted by my thoughts or worries.
I pet her – gently stroking her beautiful boxy blonde head and shoulders – massaging her spine and legs – and I talk to her. I tell her how beautiful she is. I tell her what she means to me. I thank her for all that she has given me through the years – for all that she is giving me right this very moment, just by being mine. I breathe deeply, knowing that I will forever remember the smell that is uniquely hers.
She is nearly 14 years old. Though her muzzle is completely white, her eyes are still clear and have yet to lose their sparkle. Those two huge, chocolate brown pools look up at me with a mixture of recognition, gratitude and hope. On good days, they sparkle with the promise of mischief – if only her body would not betray her. On the days that are more challenging, they are the windows into her deepest vulnerabilities. They seem to plead, “Please – take care of me.” And it is in those moments that I know the depth and expansiveness of true love. She means the world to me, and I will do everything I can to make the time she has left as sweet and full and comfortable as it can be.
She perks up when I call her name, “Lib-er-ty!” Three syllables, the first crooned with that high-pitched, delighted tone that has become our own personal shorthand for happy, followed by two successively lower, but equally enthusiastic tones that complete her name. Three syllables that both magically and concisely contain all of the love, admiration and gratitude I have for my beloved canine companion.
Her ears, those achingly soft golden planes that are nearly as expressive as her soulful eyes, arch slightly as she hears her name repeated. I gently rub her head and bury my face in her neck while I murmur over and over again how much I love her. The thump! Thump! Thump! of her tail echoes her pleasure, and, I think, her understanding.
The lessons she has taught me have been many and varied, with the most important ones coming now.
Slow down.
Appreciate the moment.
Declare your love – and be
so, so grateful for all that you have been given.
Sweet Liberty. This post made me want to get in my car and drive up to stick my nose in Charmer's scruff. Give Liberty a kiss from us.
Posted by: laura | July 29, 2009 at 07:43 PM
oh, my, Lynne, what a beautiful post and a wonderful tribute to your lovely Liberty. She is lucky to have you for a Mommy.
JoAnn (and Charmer too)
Posted by: JoAnn | July 29, 2009 at 08:40 PM
Charmer's grandmother sent me this link and I was crying before I got to the first line. Everything you said reminded me of my beloved border collie Sarah and how it was when her legs began to go until that day I tried to help her get up and she just looked at me and barked. She was not a barker. I knew then she couldn't do it any longer.
You wrote so beautifully about Li ber ty. Enjoy every waking minute with her.
Posted by: Nancy Martin | July 29, 2009 at 09:05 PM
So glad to see you here again. What a wonderful post.
Posted by: Jane | July 30, 2009 at 10:51 AM
So glad to read about Liberty again. she is such a sweetheart. Your story brought me to tears. Seeing my own Quebee, 6 years old now, but she is everything I every wanted in a dog. She's my golden dream. The same pink nose as Liberty. The same beautiful brown eyes. Thanks for sharing this Lynn, Liberty is wonderful, big hugs to her, but also to Elly and your new trooper :)
Alette
Posted by: Alette | July 31, 2009 at 01:51 PM