Yesterday the spirit of our dear dog, Max, passed out of his physical form.
He was a fabulous dog -- I couldn't possibly have asked for more.
We hosted this good dog for 9 years. He lived to be 13 1/2 years old.
Here is a reflection I wrote earlier in the morning:
Goodbye dear dog, you fine, fine friend who came to live with us in June of 2005 -- a very special moment.
You are so fine a dog, a distinguished canine.
Pure Radiant Being.
How can we know we are loved? Experience it eagerly given by a dog.
Max greeted us with joyful enthusiasm, the way each person desires to be greeted. He made up for losses. He filled in gaps with Presence.
Now he knows the path to death: stop eating, stop drinking. Let the organs quit their labor. Just head toward the exit door. Face it and let it come to you. Be embraced by it. That's what he's doing. The exit door is love, too.
We breath in love.
We stop breathing in love.
It's love both ways.
My husband, Jonathan, and I have now entered the time when Max is living with us even more powerfully as a vibrant loving Spirit. Here is a story I wrote anticipating this time.
The Dog who lives forever
So far, my dog Max has lived forever. A sort of new friend, a transient friend, gave him to us, so I never saw him small, as a new being on the earth. He just was. And now he just is. He is 13 years old.
Last night I took Max to my favorite vet. It was a hour long drive but worth it. She praises Max. She beams. I think she beams even when no one is in her office. Nevertheless, we got to see her beaming light as she examined our dog.
Neither my husband nor I had had a dog before Max. He is our first, and who knows, maybe our last. So all of this doggie stuff is new and we are trying really hard to be good “parents” to Max. At first I wondered how often Max needed to out to pee and poop. We worked hard to make a nice bed for him. Now, after years and years of adaptations, we have a sort of doghouse in our bedroom that he seems to like pretty well. He likes things cozy or at least I think he likes to be cozy. I wrap a lap blanket around him when I see him sleeping on my bed during the day and the window is open. I think he is cold. He might be perfectly happy. But I love to show him how much I love him by the care I give him.
You know, if Max does not happen to live forever, I know he will live forever in my heart.
He was a fabulous dog -- I couldn't possibly have asked for more.
We hosted this good dog for 9 years. He lived to be 13 1/2 years old.
Here is a reflection I wrote earlier in the morning:
Goodbye dear dog, you fine, fine friend who came to live with us in June of 2005 -- a very special moment.
You are so fine a dog, a distinguished canine.
Pure Radiant Being.
How can we know we are loved? Experience it eagerly given by a dog.
Max greeted us with joyful enthusiasm, the way each person desires to be greeted. He made up for losses. He filled in gaps with Presence.
Now he knows the path to death: stop eating, stop drinking. Let the organs quit their labor. Just head toward the exit door. Face it and let it come to you. Be embraced by it. That's what he's doing. The exit door is love, too.
We breath in love.
We stop breathing in love.
It's love both ways.
My husband, Jonathan, and I have now entered the time when Max is living with us even more powerfully as a vibrant loving Spirit. Here is a story I wrote anticipating this time.
The Dog who lives forever
So far, my dog Max has lived forever. A sort of new friend, a transient friend, gave him to us, so I never saw him small, as a new being on the earth. He just was. And now he just is. He is 13 years old.
Last night I took Max to my favorite vet. It was a hour long drive but worth it. She praises Max. She beams. I think she beams even when no one is in her office. Nevertheless, we got to see her beaming light as she examined our dog.
Neither my husband nor I had had a dog before Max. He is our first, and who knows, maybe our last. So all of this doggie stuff is new and we are trying really hard to be good “parents” to Max. At first I wondered how often Max needed to out to pee and poop. We worked hard to make a nice bed for him. Now, after years and years of adaptations, we have a sort of doghouse in our bedroom that he seems to like pretty well. He likes things cozy or at least I think he likes to be cozy. I wrap a lap blanket around him when I see him sleeping on my bed during the day and the window is open. I think he is cold. He might be perfectly happy. But I love to show him how much I love him by the care I give him.
You know, if Max does not happen to live forever, I know he will live forever in my heart.
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