I have not worked my blog for eons. I could use my daughters' b'not mitzvah, my search for a job, or my general malaise as explanations, which they are. But not excuses. Alice Elliott Dark, who has been my best friend since 1971, whom everyone knows from "In the Gloaming", the Dead Fathers' Club, and is best personal friends with Tom Ford (I like to think of him as the female Elise Cagan-as if), has been leading by example: using her blog as a way to communicate in no particular fashion except to sit down and write for all of us who care about what she has to say. Only connect.
Her last blog was about the life and death of her latest schipperke, the breed of dog she seemed to favor in so far as this was not only her second one but was-thanks to her husband-- a "rescue" dog..
I didn't particularly like this dog, Tuffy. Hell, I don't particularly like the breed, which looks like a bat-faced, fluffed-out small dog, but was midnight black which is probably the only positive thing I can say about schipperkes as a whole. Well, that, and I loved Alice's first schipperke: Edie. A good dog. But according to the blog outpouring, Alice's family, and more to the point, Alice, I was so behind the curve in understanding Tuffy, I have no right to mention his name. Whatever. This doesn't mean Alice didn't write so beautifully about him that I finally understood what her love was all about and why she didn't get that I was no fan of Alive Tuffy.
Then yesterday I got an email from some friends who I know from my summer community, telling me that their dog, Sadie, died. Although they let us know on the community's yahoogroup, I felt it only right to let them know how I felt about Sadie's death in a one-to-one email, as it is such a private moment.
How better, therefore, to serve myself by using this personal note as a way to get back into writing. This is what I had to say to her bereaved owners; I am so, so, sorry to hear about Sadie's death. Although I know that a pet's death is inevitable, I always had a secret dream about her ambling blindly over my grave (Note: I only knew Sadie when her eyesight was failing). I'm not being morbid (for the moment), she was just one of those ageless dogs that was not only there, but forced one to be in the moment and there with her (Read: if you didn't see her coming, you'd trip over her. She was pretty much blind and loved being around people of all ages and temperaments). You DO know she was the only dog allowed in our house. I grew up loving dogs, James not so much and our children not understanding what it's like to have one.And yet, Sadie was one of us. She was very wise in picking her owners. And I'm quite sure that part of her magnetism comes from you two. She always was, and will remain, an important part of Raananah legend (Raananah is our summer community); and I get a strange satisfaction that Hanukkah lights were burning the day she died and will continue to do so today and tomorrow (not that I'm saying they'll lead her to Baby Jesus, mind you--that insane I am not) but I can't believe there will be a Raananah family that won't think about Sadie every Hanukkah upon lighting the candles. And higher praise I cannot give.
So, I write this semi-ode to Sadie in the hopes that I truly do get in touch with my feelings about pets, understand more about Tuffy--although Alice and I will never totally agree about anything, which is how I know we just love each other to death--and to let her and those I care about know that I do understand something about animals and respect their existence to do more than provide pelts, keep me looking fabulous and warm, and feed my family and me, be it tartare, made into a soup, or grilled.
Plus, I recently had a vivid dream about owning a Rhodesian Ridgeback named Eddie. I am hoping that one interpretation isn't that, subconsciously, I truly desire to own a South African diamond mine at which young workers risk the loss of their hands to bling me out. I'd rather it means I long to own a hound with Hottentot roots.
