Petie’s Story: From the IRT subway line to Wilton, CT.
PJ died yesterday. Sweet soul. My little Petie.
I love you so. PJ’s life spanned so much of my own that it’s hard to imagine a day without her. It was nearly fourteen years ago that I found that squeaky, squealing, wiggly, waggly six-week-old puppy on the IRT subway platform.
There was an exquisite, almost divine quality to her being there on that day. You see, that very morning I awoke feeling ready, finally to take on a new dog following the death of my beloved Alqunza. And pow! There she was. Not the elegant creature I envisioned – yet absolutely perfect just the way she was. Plain Jane. My pot of gold. Elfin spirit. Where’d you go?
PJ brought joy and happiness to all who met her. You just felt good being around PJ. Her death hammers home the agonizing realization that my husband Marc, my father, mutt Mowgli, all of whom treasured her once as well, are now dead too. There is an almost generic quality to grief. I try not to judge it. Spouse/parent/pet. The heart has no hierarchy. It feels what it feels – knows what it knows.
I fed PJ over 10,000 meals. Tens of thousands of woods walks. She lived through my brain surgery. Petie made each of the men I’ve been with over the years feels like he was the only one. I trained her well.
PJ entered my live divinely, as she left it. I returned home the day before from a five-day foray to the Omega Institute, where I drummed and danced. Sang, tapped, snapped and clapped. It was a magical journey that gave me the strength to let go.
I had not been able to think through the details of her possible euthanasia in advance. Too painful. Yet all of the pieces fell into place perfectly. It was one of the few nice days all summer. PJ loved being in the car more than just about anything. Julie drove with us to the hospital via Wendy’s. Dr. Jeff met us in the car where I laid on PJ’s blanket with my head on her heart. Drumming music played in the background. And so we said goodby. Dennis buried her today.
My guardian angels all in a row. A send off befitting so special a soul.
Goodby Petie Poo. Murray, Monty, Rerun and Prozac love you too.
The house just doesn’t feel right without you. Zac sits by the door as he did so many times before whining and waiting for you to come back. An original you were – special to the end.
Be in peace PJ. Goodby old friend.