April May Editor Notes

I often do not know what I think or feel about a subject until I start writing.

Several weeks ago I received a call from a long-time pet sitting client. Without preamble, I was told that there had been significant changes in the household. A car had struck and killed their young, goofy dog. There was now a new puppy in the house that needed my care. On a recent Monday, I learned that the family of a dog I had walked daily for over three years had moved away over the weekend.

These two dogs had suddenly been ripped from my life. When I heard about that goofy pooch, it was if I had been punched in the stomach. I mourned his death as if he had been my own. When my daily walking companion disappeared, I also felt stricken, consoled knowing she had a good home and was happy.

I have experienced numerous animal losses while operating a pet care service. There are always military reassignments, older animals that become ill and pass away, and folks that use my services on only rare occasions. I have driven past homes and seen a "For Sale" sign on the front lawn; I mentally say good-bye to the furry residents. These are normal; these are expected.

It is the sudden and sometimes dramatic disappearances that are the most difficult. Our past is our greatest teacher; from it comes knowledge and wisdom. But there is no analogous set of circumstances from my many past years in an engineering environment that has taught me how to cope with these poignant events

My immediate reaction is to find another line of work. The pain and sadness in this one is often too difficult. It amazes me how strong an attachment I can have to someone else’s pet. But then I start remembering earlier losses and how the hurt eventually went away. And then I remember the particular animals, all of them unique.

I now take pictures of each animal in my workaday life and transfer them to the computer, incorporating all their faces into my screen saver. I try to remember during each visit to someone’s pet that it could be the last. I take the extra time for a requested belly rub or ear scratch. I focus less on the need to get to the next waiting animal and focus more on the present one I am tending. I am now a better pet sitter because of the animals that came into my life and then left too quickly. They are teaching me to live in the moment.

So, what do I think about this subject? Despite the painful times, I think I am going to stick with pet care a while longer. Maybe it is not our past, but the animals in our present that our greatest teachers.

Cindy