To all writers who’ve remarked on the crafting of this essay: My model is “A Country Road Song” by the late Andre Dubus (father of Andre Dubus III). Not available online, it can be found in his collection MEDITATIONS FROM A MOVABLE CHAIR. And it’s worth the price of admission to see how this master essayist writes about the catastrophic loss of a leg and an active life in nature, from season to season. The essay is structured in concentric circles and on every rereading I notice some new glory. I’d like to offer a Zoom workshop on this essay to paid subscribers, if interest warrants. You’d have to buy the book, of course.
Your writing is so powerful and flowing in this essay. How it’s all wrapped together through the beauty of your words is inspiring … I’ve just ordered the book so I can study his essays. Thank you Rona !
I love this essay. I’m only sorry that it’s about the impending loss of your beloved Casey. I’ve had many dog and cat family members and with each new arrival I know that I will most likely outlive all of them. I know from day one that our love affairs will be more brief than I would ever choose. I cherish those connections during their lives and in the memories I hold in my heart after they depart. They’re always present for me. Here I am, indeed. I’ve been planning on getting a new tattoo for about a year. This piece confirmed it for me. The tattoo will read “hineni” which is hebrew for “here I am.”
It’s source is Abraham, Isaac, and Moses’s reply to god. It also means “I am here. God, dog. It’s all the same. Sending love to you and your family.
I think the test of a great essayist is the ability to make the personal universal. My eyes usually glaze over when I read dog stories but not yours, Rona. It really is about connection and loss in all its forms. Thank you.
This is the richest essay I have read in a long, long time. The dog-shaped space in my heart has been filled with two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels - first, Suzie Q, whose life was taken by lymphoma; and now Raggedy Ann, who is 8 years old and considered a senior dog. Your writing brought to the surface the immense depth of love I have for these wordless creatures who communicate with us easily if only we will observe and listen. “Here I am.” May your remaining time with Casey be held deeply but gently.
Here I am… too. The shocking loss of my beloved Searay , not yet 8 years, cancer on his stoic, sweet heart gutted me. By the grace of some miracle Alvin another black lab came to rescue me. He was 6 when we met , now 11. He goes every where with me. He insists! I’m assured he believes it’s his job . Searay employed him. If there’s no dogs in the afterlife I’ll have a serious conversation with the gods. Your loss is deep. I’m sorry
For sure there will be dogs in any afterlife worth having. I’m glad for Alvin’s gentle and protective presence in your life. Every dog is different, though, and there will never be another Searay.
Beautiful as always. This time, heartbreaking. I am so sorry. My animal love is in the Feline department but I feel it just as intensely, and I cannot even imagine the day that I have to face life without Daphne.
I’m so sorry. I heard the news out of Gaza about the 6 murdered hostages this morning, so I was already heartbroken when I read your piece. I know the love you have for Casey, and I know what it’s like to hear the news you’ve heard. I’ve slept on the floor beside ailing doggies, I’ve held them in my arms until they were no longer able to enjoy even my caresses. I told myself—and I think it’s true—that every moment is an eternity for them, a series of “nows” that utterly fill up their hearts, and as long as I can make those “nows” full of love and comfort (and maybe even some joy) I will be there. As you will be there for Casey, and him for you. I will have to read your piece again in a day or so, because I can’t bear to fully take in the beauty of your words right now—I’d be crying all morning if I do. But know, Rona, that if you ever want to talk (for real, like on the telephone) I’m here too.
I closed your story but it has stayed with me. I wondered what I could possibly say that might help even a wee bit. We lost our starter dog to cancer at age 12. That was 5 years ago. I still feel him nuzzled beside me when I am sitting on the couch reading or lying in bed scrolling through my phone. Living with Max was one of the best experiences in my life. I wonder if we should have gone to the lengths we did to keep cancer at bay. But our wise groomer said dogs are fine until they are not and we would know. And we did. As they say, humans don’t deserve dogs.
Alice, your groomer told you what we’ve heard from wise dog people. He is fine for now, couldn’t be happier. His happiness makes us happy. I can’t help but want more of such a good thing.
Oof. After my last German shepherd died in 2007, I swore Never Again. I held out for 8 years and then, of course, adopted a new one. A wiggling ball of fire and sprints and howls and obsessions. She’s injured me with her exuberance more times than I can count. At 9, she’s finally starting to show hints of slowing down, which, as you know, brings a mix of relief and heartbreak. I know well that space you’re in with Casey. I’ve been there in the past and I see those days in my not-so-distant future. The borrowed time, the making the most of all the moments. Wishing you oodles of Here I Am moments with sweet Casey. 🙏🏻
Paulla, the pattern you describe is familiar. We don’t have eight years to wait. We figure one year, perhaps a bit longer. We will enjoy the unencumbered life for a while, then bring this complicated joy upon ourselves again.
Oh, just to be clear I wasn’t advocating for waiting - I wish I hadn’t waited so long! Life is too short for that. Yes, we always need that complicated joy ❤️
Oh dear Rona, My heart cracks open a bit with the news of Casey's diagnosis. I am so sorry to learn of this. You asked and I believe you know that our family had the best dog ever with our beloved Symoni. Oh how I love the idea of her talking to us, telling us repeatedly "Here I am", because here she still is. Seldom a day goes by where my partner or I don't recall something of her. If we don't say it out loud I know it's something in our hearts, something we might see in one of our two remaining dogs. Our neighbours lost their older dog this week and Rosie, who walks through our lives looking almost exactly like Symoni, seemed to know they needed her. She attended to them with the grace of her predecessor. She is growing into that enormous presence. She is of course her own dog, but there's a shadow of lasting love that seems to guide her. Guides all of of us. We never forget them. May Casey's days ahead be filled with the comfort and joy of knowing how you always see him. Thanks so much for this post.
Oh Rona. Here I am! In the same state of anticipatory grief for my own Daisy. Not today. Today will be one more good day of walks, sniffs, pets, and treats. But the thought of that day coming while reading your essay brought tears to my eyes.
Casey looks like a brother to our sweet girl Ready who we lost in December after 12 years. My heart goes out to you and I'm grateful for your kindness and love for him and the great life he had and still has. Sending hugs.
Having said goodbye to two beloved dogs in the last decade and one of my cats more recently, I know what you’ll soon experience all too well — but also the joy of their all-too-short lives that have enriched mine. What gave me solace was the absolute peace of their final moments, orchestrated at a time not to extend pain or suffering.
To all writers who’ve remarked on the crafting of this essay: My model is “A Country Road Song” by the late Andre Dubus (father of Andre Dubus III). Not available online, it can be found in his collection MEDITATIONS FROM A MOVABLE CHAIR. And it’s worth the price of admission to see how this master essayist writes about the catastrophic loss of a leg and an active life in nature, from season to season. The essay is structured in concentric circles and on every rereading I notice some new glory. I’d like to offer a Zoom workshop on this essay to paid subscribers, if interest warrants. You’d have to buy the book, of course.
Yes from me!
Your writing is so powerful and flowing in this essay. How it’s all wrapped together through the beauty of your words is inspiring … I’ve just ordered the book so I can study his essays. Thank you Rona !
“A Country Road Song” is one of a kind. The book contains other good essays but that one is the highlight.
I love this essay. I’m only sorry that it’s about the impending loss of your beloved Casey. I’ve had many dog and cat family members and with each new arrival I know that I will most likely outlive all of them. I know from day one that our love affairs will be more brief than I would ever choose. I cherish those connections during their lives and in the memories I hold in my heart after they depart. They’re always present for me. Here I am, indeed. I’ve been planning on getting a new tattoo for about a year. This piece confirmed it for me. The tattoo will read “hineni” which is hebrew for “here I am.”
It’s source is Abraham, Isaac, and Moses’s reply to god. It also means “I am here. God, dog. It’s all the same. Sending love to you and your family.
I think the test of a great essayist is the ability to make the personal universal. My eyes usually glaze over when I read dog stories but not yours, Rona. It really is about connection and loss in all its forms. Thank you.
Thank you, Evelyn. Making the personal universal is my mission.
This is the richest essay I have read in a long, long time. The dog-shaped space in my heart has been filled with two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels - first, Suzie Q, whose life was taken by lymphoma; and now Raggedy Ann, who is 8 years old and considered a senior dog. Your writing brought to the surface the immense depth of love I have for these wordless creatures who communicate with us easily if only we will observe and listen. “Here I am.” May your remaining time with Casey be held deeply but gently.
Oh, Pamela, what a lovely compliment. Long life to sweet Raggedy Ann!
Lovely.
Here I am… too. The shocking loss of my beloved Searay , not yet 8 years, cancer on his stoic, sweet heart gutted me. By the grace of some miracle Alvin another black lab came to rescue me. He was 6 when we met , now 11. He goes every where with me. He insists! I’m assured he believes it’s his job . Searay employed him. If there’s no dogs in the afterlife I’ll have a serious conversation with the gods. Your loss is deep. I’m sorry
For sure there will be dogs in any afterlife worth having. I’m glad for Alvin’s gentle and protective presence in your life. Every dog is different, though, and there will never be another Searay.
Sorry for your loss Jennifer
Beautiful as always. This time, heartbreaking. I am so sorry. My animal love is in the Feline department but I feel it just as intensely, and I cannot even imagine the day that I have to face life without Daphne.
Dog or cat, the capacity for profound closeness is the same. Cats often live past 20 these days. I wish you many years of comfort with Daphne.
I’m so sorry. I heard the news out of Gaza about the 6 murdered hostages this morning, so I was already heartbroken when I read your piece. I know the love you have for Casey, and I know what it’s like to hear the news you’ve heard. I’ve slept on the floor beside ailing doggies, I’ve held them in my arms until they were no longer able to enjoy even my caresses. I told myself—and I think it’s true—that every moment is an eternity for them, a series of “nows” that utterly fill up their hearts, and as long as I can make those “nows” full of love and comfort (and maybe even some joy) I will be there. As you will be there for Casey, and him for you. I will have to read your piece again in a day or so, because I can’t bear to fully take in the beauty of your words right now—I’d be crying all morning if I do. But know, Rona, that if you ever want to talk (for real, like on the telephone) I’m here too.
Dear Susan, thank you. I would welcome that kind conversation one day soon. Voice to voice? Wow!
I know. Weird isn’t it! I’ll PM you my number.
This makes me want to nuzzle our dog more, thank you Susan.
I closed your story but it has stayed with me. I wondered what I could possibly say that might help even a wee bit. We lost our starter dog to cancer at age 12. That was 5 years ago. I still feel him nuzzled beside me when I am sitting on the couch reading or lying in bed scrolling through my phone. Living with Max was one of the best experiences in my life. I wonder if we should have gone to the lengths we did to keep cancer at bay. But our wise groomer said dogs are fine until they are not and we would know. And we did. As they say, humans don’t deserve dogs.
Alice, your groomer told you what we’ve heard from wise dog people. He is fine for now, couldn’t be happier. His happiness makes us happy. I can’t help but want more of such a good thing.
so beautiful
Oof. After my last German shepherd died in 2007, I swore Never Again. I held out for 8 years and then, of course, adopted a new one. A wiggling ball of fire and sprints and howls and obsessions. She’s injured me with her exuberance more times than I can count. At 9, she’s finally starting to show hints of slowing down, which, as you know, brings a mix of relief and heartbreak. I know well that space you’re in with Casey. I’ve been there in the past and I see those days in my not-so-distant future. The borrowed time, the making the most of all the moments. Wishing you oodles of Here I Am moments with sweet Casey. 🙏🏻
Paulla, the pattern you describe is familiar. We don’t have eight years to wait. We figure one year, perhaps a bit longer. We will enjoy the unencumbered life for a while, then bring this complicated joy upon ourselves again.
Oh, just to be clear I wasn’t advocating for waiting - I wish I hadn’t waited so long! Life is too short for that. Yes, we always need that complicated joy ❤️
It’s okay, I get it. Some people are the opposite and immediately get another dog, which to me is like dating right after you lose a spouse.
complicated joy, yes!
Oh Rona, I'm so sorry. You've built a community of friends who love Casey and we will all miss him after he's had his final treat.
Thank you, Karen, for your kind thoughts and for supporting STARTER DOG.
Rona, tears as I read this, over your bond with Casey and your beautiful phrases. ❤️
Debbie! Thank you, as always, for your warm support of my writing.
Oh dear Rona, My heart cracks open a bit with the news of Casey's diagnosis. I am so sorry to learn of this. You asked and I believe you know that our family had the best dog ever with our beloved Symoni. Oh how I love the idea of her talking to us, telling us repeatedly "Here I am", because here she still is. Seldom a day goes by where my partner or I don't recall something of her. If we don't say it out loud I know it's something in our hearts, something we might see in one of our two remaining dogs. Our neighbours lost their older dog this week and Rosie, who walks through our lives looking almost exactly like Symoni, seemed to know they needed her. She attended to them with the grace of her predecessor. She is growing into that enormous presence. She is of course her own dog, but there's a shadow of lasting love that seems to guide her. Guides all of of us. We never forget them. May Casey's days ahead be filled with the comfort and joy of knowing how you always see him. Thanks so much for this post.
Leanne, I remember your stories of sweet Symoni and knew you would understand.
Oh Rona. Here I am! In the same state of anticipatory grief for my own Daisy. Not today. Today will be one more good day of walks, sniffs, pets, and treats. But the thought of that day coming while reading your essay brought tears to my eyes.
Treasure the day, Jill. As if I had to remind you. We know how this love story ends, and yet we embrace it anyway.
love and loss are a package deal.
Casey looks like a brother to our sweet girl Ready who we lost in December after 12 years. My heart goes out to you and I'm grateful for your kindness and love for him and the great life he had and still has. Sending hugs.
Having said goodbye to two beloved dogs in the last decade and one of my cats more recently, I know what you’ll soon experience all too well — but also the joy of their all-too-short lives that have enriched mine. What gave me solace was the absolute peace of their final moments, orchestrated at a time not to extend pain or suffering.
That is what we’re aiming for. Thank you, Pamme.
Oh, Rona. This is so hard. Sending you so much love.
Oh, thank you, dear Ann.