To Everything, There Is A Season...

We sat quietly in the front seats of my car, basking in the early morning sun that cut through the windshield like a laser, taking the chill out of the transition from dawn to day. Sweaty from the gym, it was good to simply be still for a moment.

Carla and I both noticed the older couple sitting on the open back gate of their station wagon at the far side of the parking lot. An old grey head between them on a blanket that all three shared. It was obvious how much they loved their dog, and he loved them as he alternated his kisses, her hand then his.

As we sat there, appreciating the moment, the lady stood up and crossed the far corner of the lot, heading over to the McDonalds on the corner. “She’s going for breakfast, a tailgate picnic.” I ventured. Sure enough, after a few minutes, she came walking back, white bag and drink in hand. That old grey muzzle lifted, nose twitching, as his mom approached with her bounty. I could see his tail wagging behind him, even though he didn’t stand.

Plopping back down in her spot on the tailgate, we were surprised to see that the egg McMuffin she pulled from the bag was for their old dog, and the drink was water for him to wash it down. He may have been old, but three bites were all it took to make that sandwich disappear. Then mom pulled out one more, crumpling the empty bag and showing the dog that there were no more left…as she handed him the last one.

As “dog people” we were touched by the dog picnic the elderly couple gave their buddy.

Deciding to say hello and show our own support for their display of dog love, I swung the car over in their direction as we started to drive out and head for home.

Pulling up next to their tailgate, it was obvious they had both been crying. Embarrassed, we mumbled something about how cool it was to see them give their dog a special breakfast. They mumbled back that it was his last.

They were on their way to the vet to end the life of their best friend, whose grey head was now resting so comfortably on his mom’s leg.

Driving away through my own tears, wasn’t so easy. We know that loss all too well.

With no words between us, deep in thought and almost home, I turned onto the main street to our house.

A young woman was walking along the sidewalk there, her backdrop a green and brown salt marsh, new grasses waving with each puff of wind off the Inter-coastal. She herded a small tan puppy in front of her, no more than a few months old. Running in spurts, falling, rolling, oblivious to everything but the errant leaf that had certainty been out of line. The pup chased that leaf with everything he had as it tumbled in the wind in front of him, just out of reach.

Tree branches overhead were heavy with new leaves, spreading their wings, eager for their first taste of the sun.

And so it goes.