Who we are and where our life leads us is yet unwritten but what we choose to let go and what we chose to begin is ours only.
I am learning to let go of dear Scout who died just before Christmas.
We knew that sometime it would happen - the heart doctor had warned us her heart would give out any moment but she had an extra few months after being carefully monitored at the heart hospital. After taking 21 pills a day she seemed rejuvenated.
She won the hearts of everyone who met her. She was loving and wise which I imagine we all hope to be and she definitely waited for me to return from getting the papers to walk up to me, stand behind my chair and literally die. So my only consolation is that I was with her and it was quick and peaceful. Grief is the price we pay for love.
As Mary Oliver writes
to live in this world you must be able to do three things:
to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and when the time comes to let it go. To let it go.
RIP dear Scout who lived for nine years - a long time in the life of a wolfhound.
Although Rocket seemed quite depressed it seemed to be of no consequence to Pocket.
Slowness opens the way to wisdom he told me. Ah you've been reading Montaigne I say. He ignored me and told me he had a lot of slowness to catch up on and would I be quiet.
Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length he burbles on
. My I say, Robert Frost as well as Montaigne but he just stretched a paw and reminded me that his third breakfast was yet to come.
Meanwhile if Pocket and Montaigne's theory is right Rocket is going to be very wise which is not a word I would have used to describe his personality. When Scout died he walked up to her lying on the floor, sniffed under her tail and walked away. I guess we all handle death differently. I did notice Pocket tried to cheer him up by sitting on his nose which he wisely said nothing about - always aware Pocket might take the other eye out and he wisely waits his turn if there's a bowl of milk around.
Meanwhile in the stable most of the hedgehogs seem to be hibernating. Some heavy breathing comes from the hedgehog house and when I put my hand into the bag of straw that was in there I met with a bunch of prickles as I was about to toss some into the duck house.
Anyway dear Readers - we all wish you a Flappy New Year and I leave you with this poem by Rumi.
