Hello, Friends!
       Reflecting on the passage of time and recent life and end-of- life experiences of a number of folks, I heard myself thinking out loud:  "It seems life is really a series of good-byes."  I'm aware of how I  date myself, "age" myself with such remarks--how only those of us who are middle-aged and older seem to care that life is so fragile, so  ephemeral, and relatively speaking, so fleeting.
       This week our family experienced another loss that has deepened this awareness for me.  We had to make the hard but humane choice to have our beloved border collie-mix Beastie put down.  After thirteen happy years, she became very ill very fast, and so we let her go, with deep sorrow, and even deeper gratitude for having known her.
      Our veterinarian and all the staff shed tears, too, and told us how much they had come to love Beastie in the years she's been in their care, for boarding and health needs.   She was one of the  brightest, funniest, most caring and present creatures I've ever  known, always tuned into all of us in her "herding" charge, always eager to respond to the moment's delights, especially if they delighted us, too.
      Beastie wasn't a saintly, "perfect," or particularly well- trained dog.   If the opportunity presented itself, she would sneak out the front door, refuse to heed any orders to return, and take off for a short reconnoitering  of the neighborhood.  She'd always return in less than an hour, but that pasture-patrolling part of her DNA just had to have satisfaction, and the rest of us just had to understand  that.   She was also an inveterate food-snatcher and garbage can raider.    No sandwich or slice of pizza left unattended for the briefest moment was safe from her wily and instantaneous capability of taking that "carpe diem" notion quite literally--she loved  gobbling up the moment.   When chastised, she would hang her head,  but in her expression one could also read, "Yes, I did it--and it was  good!"
      Her most endearing attribute was her delight when any of our family came home.  Whether the absence was two minutes or two months, she knew who her people were, and nothing made her happier than seeing any of us come through the door.   With a sock or a ball or  some other potential toy in her mouth, she would "herd" you into a  spot where you could do nothing else but say hello, acknowledge her  welcome, and be present with her in that moment--then go on about  your business.  Visitors and neighbors met on walks were likewise greeted with enthusiastic, affectionate curiosity.  Other dogs had to be "sniffed out," before passing muster as safe for us, her charges, but could quickly become playmates, if they qualified.
      Beastie was just a dog, like so many others, yet unique as every creature is, and of inestimable worth to those of us who loved her.   
     So what's so special about Beastie, or any of these homespun remembrances of a beloved, elderly pet who died?  Nothing, and everything.  Yes, life is fleeting, and yes, death is part of life, and good-byes of all sorts frame our experiences and our perspectives  on experience.   And life is comprised of "small" moments, and blessed particularly by those moments that enrich our understanding  of loving, and being loved--of living, and being alive.  The  absolute, in-the-moment aliveness of animal friends can bring us home  to awareness of blessedness, in being,   Remembering them when  they're gone through tears and laughter in stories shared can keep us  mindful of the ties that bind a family together, in love, in grief, in gratitude.
      Coming to some new acceptance of good byes, and their value, can actually enhance our engagement of hellos, of new relationships and new growth in the spirit, as we become more awake to love's presence, and the moment's potential.
      I look forward to remembering, and being in the moment with you  in the coming week, and in all our days to come.

Shalom,
Sarah