River’s words were what we needed to hear to let go. He was one of twelve of us who had traveled to a plateau in Death Valley to be guided through a vision quest. We spent ten days together, in the middle of which we went off by ourselves for three days, cried out our souls and beat our drums, calling forth the Spirits to guide us forward. Now that this work was done, we did not want to part. We stood in a circle hugging each other –– our cars packed, our three guides waiting. Citing a Native American expression, he said, “When the work is done, do not linger.”
Eighteen years later, River’s words keep circling in my mind.
In September, I wrote about taking into my home a one-year-old bearded collie named Rosie that my neighbor Sherry had bred. Bearded collies are beautiful, long haired Scottish herding dogs. They are intelligent and energetic. And I, though inexperienced as a dog owner, threw myself into her care and training.
WHAT I DID
From the beginning, I was overwhelmed. Rosie was housebroken, but she was just one year old, which meant she was still a puppy. For three months, I did everything I knew to make my home hers. My life became consumed with her care. I moved a night stand out of my bedroom to accommodate her crate; installed hooks in the kitchen, high enough so she could not run off with dish towels; set up a grooming area in the basement; put down a hefty deposit for new fencing in my unfenced back yard; played with her; walked her; groomed her.
All these things I did willingly. After all, she was to be my companion in life. With her, I would not be alone. I envisioned us doing everything together.
She had captured my heart.
WHAT SHE DID
I called Sherry at least three times a day with questions. Why is Rosie doing this? What does this mean? What do I do now?
Sherry was patient with me, generous with advice and more, buying me special foods, grooming tools, and heart worm, flea and tick medicines.
“Rosie is owning you,” she said, when I asked why she was unmaking the bed I had just made.
“Rosie is a still a puppy,” she said when I asked why she stole everything she could, running from living room to bedroom to guest room with me chasing her with a treat, hoping to trade her for whatever she had in her mouth.
“It’s fun for her to do that,” said Sherry.
Rosie chewed up everything she could get in her mouth –– books, magazines, straw coasters, wash cloths, napkins, socks, panties. Notes I wrote to myself were soon a soggy mess if I left them on the edge of a table, counter, or desk.
“Why?” I asked Sherry when Rosie jumped excitedly into her arms, and those of friends, whenever she saw them. I did not get that response.
“You’re just mom,” assured Sherry.
One night I was so tired, all I wanted to do was go to bed. All Rosie wanted to do was run off with my blanket. “No!” I yelled as I yanked it from her mouth. Rosie looked shocked and walked out of the bedroom. I will never forget walking into the darkened living room where she stood. I reached out to her, and she turned from me. She walked out the back door and lay down on the deck.
I had hurt her, and that hurt me.
WHAT I COULD SEE
Even though it was obvious that Rosie was dependent on me and beginning to bond with me, something seemed to be missing in her life, something I did not know how to give her. She spent much time on my back deck staring into the woods. When she came inside, she often crawled under my bed. She did not like it when I had to leave her and was glad to have me back when I returned, but there always seemed to be a distance between us.
I could not help thinking I was failing Rosie.
Then I noticed my jeans growing loose –– and I do not have the body type that can afford to lose much weight. I could not imagine living as I was for another ten to twelve years.
I had tried so hard, re-arranged by home, my life, spent money and time to make this work. Why didn’t it?
Sherry brought it all to a head one morning as I cried over my failures and doubts.
“I am worried about you,” she said. “You are depressed.”
I could no longer ignore that I could not give Rosie what she needed, and I could see that Rosie could not give me what I wanted. In seeing Rosie as a life companion, I was looking to her to fill the holes in me that only I can fill. I was looking to her to accept my imperfections, to forgive my mistakes, when I needed to do that for myself. I wanted her to love me when I just needed to love myself.
THE MESSENGER
Despite what I thought and hoped for, mine was not to be Rosie’s forever home. Instead, I was a foster home, a bridge to her forever home. She now lives on the east coast with a woman who is part of community of bearded collie owners. They meet regularly to let their dogs run and play together. More importantly, Rosie’s new owner has a six-year-old female beardie who has taken on the role of big sister.
There is a line spoken by one of the characters in James A. Michener’s magnificent tome, The Source: “… one does not embrace messengers; one listens to them.”1
“Rosie, I am listening.”
I had hoped to embrace Rosie forever, but that was not to be. That is not why we were brought together. Instead, she was a messenger, a guide, showing me what only I could do for myself. The work I am to take up: to embrace myself fully in all my human messiness –– my mistakes, my misreadings, my misjudgements.
It broke my heart to let her go.
DO NOT LINGER
The night before I was to drive to meet her new owner, Rosie came over to the living room chair where I was sitting. I stroked her head, and told her once again what was to happen, how she would now have a big sister to learn from and to play with. She looked at me with her soulful eyes before stretching out on the floor next to the chair. I got down beside her. She rolled over on her back, and for a while the two of us were together. Her back feet curled up in the air; her front feet furled by her head, her eyes closed. I stroked her belly over and over. I ran my fingers through her long silver hair.
The next day, as I unloaded Rosie from my car, I tried to say goodbye. She paid me no mind. I like to think she knew what I came to understand only after the car with her drove away: we had said our goodbyes the night before. Our work with each other was done. There was no need to linger.
FOR REFLECTION: Recall a time when what you dreamed of, what you hoped for, was not to be. How were you able to let go? What did you learn from the experience? Were there gifts to be found there?
1 James A. Michener, The Source, (New York: Random House, 1965), 314.
Top image: Pixabay/esudroff
Midtext image: Rosie by Barbara Lyghtel Rohrer
Side image: Pixabay/Avelino Calvar Martinez
