Bright Eyes and Moonbeams

               

               

               Well, it’s happened again, as the Car Talk guys say.  We’ve wasted another perfectly good decade loving a dog that was only bound to leave us.  Leave us, I should add, wanting a bit more.  She entered our lives on a Saturday afternoon when a call from the Emergency Rescue Squad to my veterinary office requested my assistance to distinguish whether a creature stuck on a ledge, across a quarry, and in sight by a spotting scope, was a dog, a wolf or a coyote.  I arrived on the scene later in the day upon the completion of appointments to easily discern, without the aid of a field guide to the Canids, that the stranded thing was, indeed, a dog. 

                The details of her rescue are of some note and recorded elsewhere.  Suffice it to say here that I’ll never forget her exuberant expression, seated in the back of a rescue boat as the boat approached the shore upon which I was standing.  Her eyes sparkled with joy.  Jen and I adopted what proved, by DNA testing, to be a mixture of several parts Border collie with some measure of Australian shepherd and a dash of, utterly invisible, mastiff.  One of the sweetest dogs to ever live entered our lives and we named her Annabel Lee, the subject of a favorite Poe poem:

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

The early days were a challenge as she bolted at any opportunity in a spree of exuberant exploration.  But rather quickly she abandoned her penchant for wanderlust and devoted herself to our companionship, and the company of her brother dog, Beans.  In fact, her attachment went a bit over the top as she was haunted by separation anxiety that led to intense panics when she was left alone, especially if a thunderstorm occurred during our absence.   Over time and with therapy this fear abated.  She and Beans cared little for the company of dogs beyond the clique of one another.  Together they roamed and sniffed every square inch of our five acre, wooded property, terrorizing ground hogs and chipmunks, barking at deer, chasing turkeys and indulging in celebratory rolling upon any odorous detritus they chanced upon. 

They accompanied Jen and me on many a hike, neither requiring a leash on these adventures and both dutifully coming when called.  In times of play Annabel had to be admonished to take it easy on her smaller brother whom she could and would easily bowl over when she got a bit of a head start of a gallop in his direction.  She was, we thought, a young dog but that surmise proved incorrect as the infirmities of old age began to emerge sooner than expected.  By this, her seventh year in our home, Annabel had become nearly blind, certainly deaf, and each compulsive circle she made around the perimeter of our house became more of a struggle.  Still, she loved to lie in the sun in our company during our yard activities and on good days she even broke into a bit of a trot when so inclined. 

But senescence led to nocturnal anxiety and wandering.  Beans, whom she had formerly overpowered in boisterousness, now knocked Annabel over when he jumped to lick her chin and face, a demonstration of his affection that she clearly found aggravating.  Jen and I delayed the decision for at least a month, probably longer, as we weighed her increasingly difficult times against dwindling joy in her life.  We struggled, as pet people do, with our motives and sensitivities, as Annabel’s needs became increasingly onerous, especially for Jennifer, who devoted herself to the old dog’s well being. 

And so, yesterday morning, with the gift of modern veterinary pharmacology, we ushered her out of this place on a soft cushion in our bedroom.  We watched her depart with feelings of disbelief and a touch of relief and that particular melancholy that accompanies a life changing loss. 

Across a water-filled quarry Annabel sailed into our lives, brightened our existence, returned our love and now has departed.  I know nothing of a hereafter.  I “swear there ain’t no Heaven and pray there aint no Hell.” But I sense that consciousness exists beyond time, can neither be created nor destroyed, and that this tangible universe is a product of consciousness, rather than the other way around.  Ethics and proper living seem to be a part of the fabric and every living thing, and perhaps the non sentient as well, express this foundation of being.  Some, like Annabel Lee, emit something brilliant in that regard. 

And so, on this morning after, in the silence of my sitting room, I am left with Poe’s last stanza:

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.