The Little Things
By Jason Marshall
I’m blessed. I truly am.
To the point where if I’m asked to give the Thanksgiving blessing this year, the meal will be ice cold before I wrap it up.
Most of us have so many reasons to be grateful.
Health of mind and body. Loving family and friends. A safe place to call home. Food in your belly. Everyday comforts and simple joys.
I no longer take anything for granted. What brings us peace and enjoyment today may be gone tomorrow. I’ve learned that expressing gratitude in the past tense tarnishes happiness with regret.
At this moment, in my world, life is good. But sadness lurks around the corner.
Soon I’ll say goodbye to my oldest and dearest dog friend. The decision will most likely come before the first snowfall and that’s ironic because he loves winter.
Moose and I met at the precise moment we needed one another most, though neither of us knew it.
I’d stopped by the local humane society to drop off some food. I wasn’t looking for another dog.
Under the shroud of darkness someone tied him to the front door of the shelter. No note. No explanation. Just abandoned him.
He was big. And playful. In fact, he played me. He stared at me with his soft brown eyes. Then rolled on his back and gave me his belly to rub. Fifteen minutes later we were on our way home together.
His story struck a chord with me. His personality sealed the deal.
Moose was sturdy and strong. With energy to burn. He needed not only love, but exercise and lots of it. We became a team.
We’d drive to a nature trail where he could explore. He became a minor celebrity as we toured around, his head poking through the sunroof of the car. In fact, I bought him a pair of dog goggles like Snoopy wore when he battled the Red Baron.
Moose was chill. And cool. Literally. He loved frigid weather. Me possibly getting frostbite was no excuse for skipping a walk. In fact, there was an expectation that I would throw snowballs his way so he could jump and clown around. He even pulled a sled for a while and would have made Jack London second guess his decision to make Buck his lead dog.
We’d go on daily journeys. I’d talk. He’d listen.
I told him things I’ve never told another living soul. He’s still my keeper of secrets.
I’ve celebrated my victories with him. He’s consoled me on days when things didn’t go the way I’d hoped. He knew the difference. His love was constant.
Moose is closing in on 100 in human years. His brain tells his body he’s still a pup, but his body isn’t listening. His eyes are growing dimmer. His hearing isn’t what it used to be. His muscles are growing weaker. He’s failing.
The will is there. But there is no way.
This makes my heart hurt.
He still sees himself as the guardian and protector of the family.
Never again will he chase a squirrel to defend the homestead. Or fight a raccoon stealing plums from our tree. Thankfully he’ll never try to tackle another skunk.
Will I still be finding Moose hair around the house and in the truck 10 years from now? Most certainly. And when I do, there won’t be tears, but smiles as I remember how much love and happiness he brought to our lives.
Will I cry unconsolably when I say goodbye? Without a doubt.
When I let Moose into my life, I knew this time would come. I made room in my heart fully knowing it would be broken one day. I would do it all over again. In a heartbeat.
My oldest son, who is now four, knows Moose isn’t well. He asked me if Moose would go to heaven. I told him that when we got to heaven, Moose would be the first to run and greet us at the gates. Gabe hugged me and said it made him so happy that Moose would run again.
That’s why at this time of the year when we give thanks, I want to tell Moose I’ll be eternally grateful for his friendship. I want to do this while I can still hug him and rub his belly like I did the first day we met. Perhaps share a secret or two.
Rubs, whether they be chin, belly, back or ear. A walk. A drive with the wind in your face. A cozy spot on the couch near the fire. Making time to sniff or snack. Just being present with those you love most.
I’m thankful I still have some time to shower him with the little things because to him, they make all the difference.
Jason Marshall has been a writer and journalist for more than 35 years, and is an on-air host and general manager at Valley Heritage Radio just outside of Renfrew, Ontario. And he’s truly a big kid at heart. You can email him anytime at jason@valleyheritageradio.ca
