MY JOURNEY
On this page, you will find the stories of the rescued (and other) dogs who have been generous enough to share their journey with me. They have taught me so much, they have shown me love, joy, laughter, courage, inspiration, loyalty and how to deal with the inevitable heartbreaks that life provides. They have been my constant and steadfast companions and friends.
It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them. And every new dog who comes into my life, gifts me with a piece of their heart. If I live long enough, all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are.
Cheryl Zuccaro
Below is a short video about one little dog that made a remarkable come back.
The Journey
By Crystal Ward Kent
Copyright 1998, All Rights Reserved
When you bring a pet into your life, you begin a journey — a journey that will bring you more love and devotion than you have ever known, yet also test your strength and courage.
If you allow, the journey will teach you many things, about life, about yourself, and most of all, about love. You will come away changed forever, for one soul cannot touch another without leaving its mark.
Along the way, you will learn much about savoring life’s simple pleasures — jumping in leaves, snoozing in the sun, the joy of puddles, and even the satisfaction of a good scratch behind the ears.
If you spend much time outside, you will be taught how to truly experience every element, for no rock, leaf or log will go unexamined, no rustling bush will be overlooked, and even the very air will be inhaled, pondered, and noted as being full of valuable information. Your pace may be slower — except when heading home to the food dish — but you will become a better naturalist, having been taught by an expert in the field.
Too many times we hike on automatic pilot, our goal being to complete the trail rather than enjoy the journey. We miss the details — the colorful mushrooms on the rotting log, the honeycomb in the old maple snag, the hawk feather caught on a twig. Once we walk as a dog does, we discover a whole new world. We stop; we browse the landscape; we kick over leaves, peek in tree holes, look up, down, all around. And we learn what any dog knows: that nature has created a marvelously complex world that is full of surprises, that each cycle of the seasons brings ever-changing wonders, each day an essence all its own.
Even from indoors you will find yourself more attuned to the world around you. You will find yourself watching summer insects collecting on a screen (How bizarre they are! How many kinds there are!), or noting the flicker and flash of fireflies through the dark. You will stop to observe the swirling dance of windblown leaves, or sniff the air after a rain. It does not matter that there is no objective in this; the point is in the doing, in not letting life’s most important details slip by.
You will find yourself doing silly things that your pet-less friends might not understand: spending thirty minutes in the grocery aisle looking for the cat food brand your feline must have, buying dog birthday treats, or driving around the block an extra time because your pet enjoys the ride. You will roll in the snow, wrestle with chewie toys, bounce little rubber balls till your eyes cross, and even run around the house trailing your bathrobe tie — with a cat in hot pursuit — all in the name of love.
Your house will become muddier and hairier. You will wear less dark clothing and buy more lint rollers. You may find dog biscuits in your pocket or purse, and feel the need to explain that an old plastic shopping bag adorns your living room rug because your cat loves the crinkly sound.
You will learn the true measure of love — the steadfast, undying kind that says, “It doesn’t matter where we are or what we do, or how life treats us as long as we are together.” Respect this always. It is the most precious gift any living soul can give another. You will not find it often among the human race.
And you will learn humility. The look in my dog’s eyes often made me feel ashamed. Such joy and love at my presence. She saw not some flawed human who could be cross and stubborn, moody or rude, but only her wonderful companion. Or maybe she saw those things and dismissed them as mere human foibles, not worth considering, and so chose to love me anyway.
If you pay attention and learn well, when the journey is done, you will not be just a better person, but the person your pet always knew you to be — the one they were proud to call beloved friend.
I must caution you that this journey is not without pain. Like all paths of true love, the pain is part of loving. For as surely as the sun sets, one day your dear animal companion will follow a path you cannot yet go down. And you will have to find the strength and love to let them go. A pet’s time on earth is far too short — especially for those that love them. We borrow them, really, just for awhile, and during those brief years they are generous enough to give us all of their love — every inch of their spirit and heart, until one day there is nothing left.
The cat that only yesterday was a kitten is all too soon old and frail and sleeping in the sun. The young pup of boundless energy wakes up stiff and lame, the muzzle now gray. Deep down we somehow always knew this journey would end. We knew that if we gave our hearts they would be broken. But give them we must for it is all they ask in return. When the time comes, and the road curves ahead to a place we cannot see, we give one final gift and let them run on ahead — young and whole once more.
“Godspeed, good friend,” we say, until our journey comes full circle and our paths cross again.
Note: I found this wonderful poem many years ago, when my journey with the many wonderful dogs I have known was just beginning. I have never forgotten it. Thank you Crystal for writing it and for so generously sharing it with others. Used by permission.
Gizmo, 1991-2004
Little Man,
You were my gift from Heaven.
So long my “little man” … until we meet again.
Thank you for finding me.
I will always love you and still miss you.
“Little man,” that’s what my friend Kathy called him. | click + to open
Gizmo was one of my first “rescues,” a failed one at that. He was found on my block by one of my neighbors and brought to me because she figured I would know whose dog he was or could find his owners. Turns out that his owners had just had a new baby and simply didn’t have time to care for Gizmo and couldn’t figure out how to keep him confined in his own yard. When Gizmo came to me, he was already 10 years old, had advanced kidney disease, a grade 5 heart murmur and infections in both eyes. Dr. Francie told me he might have a couple of years. My original intention was to “clean him up” and find him a home. I didn’t know much about rescue back then; I didn’t yet know that there aren’t that many people out there willing to take an old dog with major medical issues. Not that it really mattered because after a week in my home, I decided Gizmo was here to stay. Gizmo was as close to the perfect dog as one can get. He was sweet, friendly but very calm and mellow. He was quiet, well behaved, house trained. All he needed or wanted was a place to hang out and a few treats now and then.
Dr. Francie was wrong, Gizmo was with me for three and a half years. For that extra time, I am very grateful. Somehow, though, it is never long enough, we humans tend to be greedy in that respect. Below is what I wrote about him the week he died.
Wednesday morning, I finally let go of my little Gizmo. He had not been doing well; he had not eaten anything since Saturday and even after 2 days of IV fluids, Gizmo refused to eat anything. When I woke up at 5:30 am on Wednesday, I found Gizmo laying on the floor, very limp, cold, having a hard time breathing, his heart racing. I knew the time had come but it was still hard to accept. I cried all the way to the vet’s office, Gizmo laying on the passenger seat. I cried for the next two hours sitting in my vet’s “quiet room,” holding Gizmo close to me, trying to keep him warm. Those two hours were the most difficult yet most special time I’ve ever spent with Gizmo. I had time to think about what this “little man” had taught me. Gizmo taught me that sometimes it is a good thing to put aside your wants for the good of others. I’ll never forget the time Gizmo spent over 4 hours sitting on a dying man’s lap. The man was Ted, a family friend, who was dying of cancer. Gizmo was not really a lap dog and after a few seconds on your lap, he would normally jump off, preferring to lay by your feet. But somehow Gizmo knew that Ted needed him to be a lap dog for those few hours they shared and so Gizmo was a lap dog for him.
Gizmo also taught me that sometimes you need to be fearless, even when you are outmatched. There was the time a neighbor’s loose Springer Spaniel charged my 3 dogs in our alleyway. Gizmo struggled, pulled and wiggled until he somehow slipped his collar (the only time he would ever do that) and then chased the Springer down the alleyway. The Springer is much younger and at least 3 times bigger than Gizmo but Gizmo knew he is just a bully and so he chased him off, away from me and the other dogs.
After he was gone, I held him a while longer, telling him over and over again, how much I love him and how I will never forget him. Then I brushed him and put a nice new collar around his neck. He always got very upset when I took his collar off so I wanted him to have a collar to take along with him. I also sent a tag so he will never get lost again — his previous family lost him many times before I found him. And his favorite toy, a stuffed monkey he would play with every morning after we came back from our walk. Then I wrapped him in a warm, soft, fleece blanket so he will always have something comfortable to sleep on.
He was my gift from Heaven and now he is back where he came from. So long my “little man” … until we meet again. Thank you for finding me. As hard as it is to lose you, not having you in my life would have been an immensely bigger loss.
Gizmo loved his naps!
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