Gratitude

Thanksgiving Blessings to All!

Cheyenne

My husband found her when she was about eight weeks old. He was on his way to work, up in the back country, and he saw her jumping at butterflies near a bar ditch. He decided if she was still there at the end of the day, he would take her home. She was still there...a beautiful black, tan, and white puppy - a mutt, but a very special one, sent to teach. First him, and in time, me. She picked us to be her guardians in this lifetime, fourteen years ago. She is slowly making herself ready to go home to the Goddess; sacred source. Hecate is her guide. I know she will receive safe passage back to that from which we all come.

I wanted to write about Cheyenne while she is still here with us. She's sleeping behind my chair as I type. I have had many, many dogs in my life. She has been different than the others. It has always been so clear to me that she was "sent." Initially, it was to help my husband get through a very difficult time. She didn't become "mine" until she was almost a year old...when my husband moved in and brought her with him. Yet, she has always been mine, as well. She was sent to me, also.

Were it not for Cheyenne, my marriage would almost assuredly have ended in the first or second year. If that had happened, I would not have learned all I now know about myself. I would not have learned how to incorporate a man into my life. I would not have learned to manage my, once, monstrous anger. I would not have learned tolerance and empathy. I would not have had the opportunity to know the totally original, complex, and maddening man who is my husband. Cheyenne kept us together. I knew if he left, he would have taken her with him. I couldn't bear to part with her.

These days, Cheyenne suffers from "sundown syndrome." As the light fades, she grows anxious and restless. She wanders the house and gets "stuck" in the corners. It's a hard thing to watch. She mostly sleeps during the day. She requires medication to be comfortable at night. I'm waiting for her to tell us it's time...time to go home. I don't think she's quite ready. I know we're not ready, but we'll do what is best for her.

My husband is devastated. I don't know this because he has said so. Devastated is not a word he would ever use to describe himself. I know what she means to him. I know she is the reason he was able to open his heart, the tiniest bit, and try to love again.

I know there are more lessons she wants to gift to us. My parents both died in a state of dementia. It was difficult to watch them deteriorate. It was difficult to care for them. It was heartbreaking. I was so angry at them. So, I am learning, through Cheyenne, to dig deeper and uncover a more profound level of love, patience, tolerance, and acceptance.

I often think I haven't had great periods of sustained happiness in my life. Yet, every time I've looked at this dog, for the last fourteen years, I have felt pure joy. I could not have been given a greater gift.

I love you, Cheyenne. I know one day our spirits will soar together. Until then, you live in my heart.