When she was here, she brought out the fun in me.
When she left me, she sucked away some of my breath. Part of me has been suffocating for almost three months.
Muggins was my mentor, my guide. She was what every woman needs—a wise bitch who knows how to go out on a limb to embrace life.
I could always find a reason to feel good when I looked at Muggins.
The morning after she died, I was up at 5 a.m. I couldn’t sleep. For months, we’d been sleeping with a nightlight in the room so she could see the ramp that led up to the bed (her eyesight had been poor for some time). I’d hated that nightlight because it disturbed my sleep—I thought it kept me from going into a deep sleep.
We unplugged the nightlight the night she died. The darkness screamed, “She’s gone,” and the knowledge smothered me. I wanted the nightlight back.
I gave up and got up. I turned on all the lights.
For weeks, I’d been starting my day by dancing, freestyle dancing to a selection of tunes on my ipod. That morning, trying to push the dark away, I danced.
In our kitchen, above the pantry, we have a wooden plaque that reads, “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”
I looked up at the plaque, and tears bathed my cheeks. “I’m dancing, Muggins,” I said to my beloved dog. “I’m dancing.”
That’s what Muggins would have wanted.
When you’ve had a dog for 17 years (I brought her home when she was 8-weeks old), when she’s gone, a void opens and swallows you up. When we left the vet, I said to Tim, “What do we do now?”
He didn’t know.
I decided to send an e-mail to the breeder from whom I got Muggins. I told her about Muggins’ long life and asked if she’d have a litter of Springer pups any time soon. She e-mailed back that she wouldn’t have a litter until Spring, but, she said, there was a puppy available now. The breeder lived about three hours from me, and she was one Muggins’ breeder recommended highly. She said she’d already called the other breeder to highly recommend me.
I looked at Tim. He looked at me.
It seemed like it was sort of falling in place. I sent an e-mail to the new breeder. She sent me a picture of the puppy. The next day, we drove to the breeder’s home and saw the puppy. Big surprise. We brought her home.
Ducky is a black and white Springer Spaniel, like Muggins. But she’s not Muggins. SO not Muggins. She’s very different, in appearance and personality.
That’s good.
And she knows about the joy of life (all dogs do). That’s good too.
So Ducky has taken the baton that Muggins passed off to her (I am convinced Muggins, who is now part of that nonphysical stream of energy we all come from) led me to Ducky. Ducky is still a puppy. But she’s clearly a wise bitch who knows how to embrace life.
