canine grief Archives - Owl Medicine: Shamanic Healing

Spartacus Dreaming – Photo: L. Weikel

Too Many Clouds

Alas, I was not beamed up by yesterday’s mothership. Nor did I see any Draconids on our walk tonight. There were too many clouds lingering at the first edge of evening, holdovers from the grumpy, overcast weather of the entire day.

I doubt it would come as a surprise to any of you to learn that Spartacus’s sudden death wrenched our family’s hearts. It threw us for a loop. As weird as it may sound, I think the sudden and unexpected loss of him was a cruel reminder of that same sudden and unexpected loss of Karl.

And yet again, I struggle in my attempts to describe my feelings without being perceived as some kind of hack who is unable to discern between love for a human and love for an ‘animal.’ As if one is higher or more refined than the other.

I struggle because, as I’ve said before, love is love. Love is that unabashed, open-hearted relinquishment of barriers between two beings. It’s a giving of one’s heart. It’s a sense of being seen and heard and cherished no matter what.

Simply one of my favorite photos; Son & Mom, Spartacus & Sheila – Photo: L. Weikel

Imbalance

After Sheila died, a year ago, Karl’s and my walks felt out of balance. For over 12 years we’d taken daily walks, each with a pup of our own on a leash. I’ve often wondered as Spartacus and I walked and walked and walked mostly by ourselves over the last several months whether Karl’s sudden, strange onset of pain, making our walks uncomfortable for him, was at all related to that ‘imbalance.’

Surely it doesn’t seem to make any logical sense that losing one of our cherished pups would impact us physically. And yet, the question lingered. It remains unanswered to this day.

I, for one, only realized after his death how constant a presence in my life Spartacus had become. I’ve always been deeply connected to my four-legged companions, from my very first kitten, Katen, who came into my life when I was six. (He passed away shortly before Karl and I were married.) But especially since the pandemic hit, Spartacus had been literally my constant companion. Even in work, which I now do ‘long distance,’ he was at my side. On the porch, in the house, it didn’t matter. He was with me.

“Arf!” – Photo: L. Weikel

Dream

Several days ago, completely unexpectedly, Spartacus appeared to me in the very early hours of the morning. This is when I often receive my most profound communications from other realms.

That morning, I felt like I opened my eyes and saw Spartacus. He was in my face – I could see his adorable little front teeth. His front paws were on me, on my arm, getting my attention. He kept saying, “Arf! Arf!” very insistently. His big brown eyes looked right into mine.

I thought, what is he telling me? What does he mean when he arfs at me like this?

“What pup? What are you telling me?” I asked.

“Get it,” he replied.

“But…”

“I used to tell you to GET IT when I wanted you to go into the yard and get one of my toys to throw for me.”

“But…”

“Get it. Get a puppy. I don’t want you to wait.”

“What???”

“ARF!” And he grinned at me. Love poured out of him, poured out of his big brown eyes.

All I could feel was love for him and his love for me.

“You need me,” he said. And I woke up.

(T-48)

Sheila & Spart’s Last Minutes Together – Photo: L. Weikel

Spartacus’s Sadness

When we let go of Sheila last Friday I mentioned to Karl that I doubted I would write about it. At least I was pretty sure I wouldn’t share it right away. But as the evening wore on, of course, I could think of nothing but Sheila, so I wrote ‘Irreplaceable.’ That’s what happens with this 1111 devotion. I deliberately refrain from planning ahead what I’m going to write about; instead, I allow whatever is foremost on my mind or in my heart lead me as I settle in to write each post. Tonight, I have to admit, I am compelled to bear witness to Spartacus’s sadness.

As I’ve written elsewhere, Spartacus was Sheila’s one and only puppy. Her only son. We never intended to breed her, but even our veterinarian felt she was such an extraordinary pup that allowing her to have a litter would be an incredible gift to all of us. We were so on the fence over it that we willingly dealt with the hassle of her cycles for four years.

Finally, we decided to take her back to the breeder from whom we’d bought her. The breeding process itself was awful. Sheila wanted no part in the shenanigans and the stud was – of all things – polite. He was not inclined to force himself on her, given her obvious distaste, in spite of what a cutie pie she was. It took a lot of persistence, and we almost gave up. But finally – success!

The only stipulation? I looked into Sheila’s eyes when it was over and she made me promise – she demanded – that I never make her go through that living hell again. We had a deal.

A Room of His Own

When we were sure the single encounter had ‘taken,’ I was psyched to midwife my little girl’s puppies! I read up on it and prepared for the big day as best as I could. We had her checked a couple of times by different people familiar with pregger pups and everyone predicted 2-3 puppies.

Of course, her labor started and abruptly stopped. Naturally, this occurred in the early evening, when our regular vet was closed for the day, thus necessitating a trip to the animal emergency room. An x-ray confirmed that our petite Sheila had one huge honker of a pup laying upside down along her spine, splayed out, enjoying the room of his own – just like he continues to sleep on his back to this day. After a touch-and-go emergency C-section, our Spartacus was born.

She Was Here Just the Other Day… – Photo: L. Weikel

Bottom Line

Sheila and Spartacus came home with me that evening and slept right beside me on the floor beside the bed, in a makeshift nest of blankets. And ever since that June day in 2008, they were inseparable.

Sheila was a great mom. She groomed him and loved him, taught him all the good stuff to eat, played with him relentlessly – and always, always cuddled him.

If you take a look at the photo above, to her very last day, he was trying to engage her with a new toy we’d bought him. Sadly, she hadn’t played with Spartacus in probably two years, as she grew steadily more blind and deaf.

Of course, we knew he would miss her. His life would be altered in a way he’d never experienced. (Neither of them ever spent time away from each other. Where one went, the other did too.) His life will never be the same.

He’s been sticking by us like glue, and we’ve been lavishing affection on him – not a hard task by any means. It’s been hard to discern between his sadness and our own. Indeed, even the cats have been subdued and withdrawn.

But when I saw him this afternoon, laying on the grass in the exact spot he’d last spent time with Sheila before we took her to the vet last Friday, I thought my heart would burst. My little boy misses his mommy. No doubt about it.