The Ides of March were harsher than usual this year. In fact, it kinda lasted from the 12th through the 23rd. Why limit it to the 15th when you can experience a whole two weeks of Shakespearian tragedy? Ten days removed, it seems surreal to think that what went down actually did.
Twelve days after my wife was diagnosed with cancer, and six days after we lost our dog Indie, our other dog Jake ran away. That was on Easter Sunday. Countless hours of searching later, we haven't seen a trace of him.
The cancer we took in stride. The Indie ordeal was difficult, but we knew we made the right decision. We couldn't handle the pressures of chemo treatment with an unpredictable animal in the house anyway. The loss of Jake, however, - our beloved faithful canine companion - nearly broke us.
Indie was my wife's dog. She took her demise better because she witnessed the attack and knew that the dog had it coming. Jake, though, was my boy. I rescued him from the shelter, took him to classes, trained him to mind, and considered him a great friend. We both very much looked to him for comfort after my wife's diagnosis and Indie's ultimate fate. He provided it without hesitation.
Jake's nickname was Shakes. Whenever he'd see me coming, he'd hunch down with his rear end up in the air and wiggle, or shake, his whole backside in excitement. Shakes was a fifty pound lap dog, never knew a stranger and we didn't consider him a flight risk until that day he ran.
And I miss him so much.
I still have hope that someone will find him. Ads are in the paper. He's embedded with an identification microchip. The local vets and shelters have been notified. But it's been ten days and hope is waning.
Now the house feels emptier than it's been in years. For the next few days we kinda wandered around the place in a fog. It just didn't feel like a home without a pup to snuggle up to.
We knew what was missing. Slowly, we gathered the courage to begin browsing the local shelter listings. Nothing felt right. It was too soon. Then my wife stumbled upon an entry for a baby Alaskan Malamute. I hestitantly e-mailed the foster home, expecting to hear of the pup's recent adoption. But I figured with our recent luck, she'd be gone.
But then, as our terrible month of March came to a close, across the electronic lines of communication came a message that warmed our hearts. She was available. We quickly made a date for a visit.
You see, dogs don't heal wounds. They don't cure cancer or bring good luck. What has happened has happened. We're so extremely grateful and fortunate that a highly treatable form of cancer and a couple lost animals are our biggest concerns right now. There are others that experience so much more hardship and I wouldn't presume to make light of that. You'd be right if you said that, in the scheme of things, a couple lost dogs are small potatoes.
But in our little corner of the world, the last four weeks have been difficult. And the affection and comfort that comes with having a dog or two around have been painfully absent.
So I'm going tonight to meet a new one. She's a 15 pound ball of fur that will no doubt chew our couch cushions and poop on our carpet. She won't make us forget about Indie or Jake and definitely won't replace them.
But she just might get this month off to a brighter start. March was tough, and we could use a little joy in our lives right now. We've already picked out a name that may be just as fitting as it is timely:
We're going to name her April.
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