A Love Letter

Our "Lotsa-Dotsa Potty-Potsa"

My dear, dear Dottie,

I am here because I am trying to hear what you are telling me, what you need, what you want, and how you need me to help.  Are you too tired?  Too sore?  Too done with this world?  Or am I hearing my own fears of what it feels like to lay on your skin and bones frame on a hard floor, because you don't know there is a soft bed inches away?  My own angst of your thin body chilled through in a Michigan winter, despite my efforts to keep you warm?  I know, in my deepest heart, that a month ago, you asked for help.  You were struggling, but not ready to leave.  Now, I don't feel that same assuredness.  Is it fate that when I googled that word, because I'm sure I've used it, but just in case, a picture of a tiny Spaniel puppy popped up?  I just, I don't want to be wrong.  I don't want to be the last person in the list of people who have failed you, and I don't want to give up if you don't.  I am trying to find the balance, or perhaps the difference, between giving up, and helping you call your own game.  Just for the record, I will never give up on you.  You are a warrior soul, through and through.  I am so honoured that you called to me, chose me, and my crazy clan to show you love, and compassion, and acceptance.  I just want to honour you in the way that you need, on your terms, to get you to where you want to be, whether that's here with us for awhile longer, or running free on the other side.  I wonder, that day, a month ago, when we brought you home and you were running, RUNNING through the yard, with that lopsided Dottie grin, was that your gift to me?  Because I said all I ever wanted for you was to know love, and the freedom to just run and be happy?   I took it as a promise from this Universe of better things to come for you, but I wasn't clear on who the promise was to, or what it looked like. In my eyes, it looked like the ease of the lives of the other pups around here, and the ones that came before, carefree living, full bellies, warm beds, and a good rub, but perhaps your past, the life you've already lived, just won't allow that to be the picture that sees you through to the next life.  For you, that promise may look like a family who loves you, who belongs to you, and to whom you will also always belong.  It may look like the promise of no more hurting, no more fear and uncertainty.  I may just need to be secure in the knowledge that we have somehow managed to heal your heart, even if your body can't catch up.  You are loved, our Dot, and forever a part of us.