Maybe it is a bit more than pure coincidence that “dog” in the English language is “God” spelled backwards.
What other living being among us can teach us more about the full meaning of “unconditional love” than can a loyal dog?
If you’ve ever been blessed enough in this world to have been loved by a dog, then you understand my words here. Completely.
If you have not in this life yet been so blessed, my friends, then you cannot possibly fully understand. And you are to be fully forgiven for that.
If you are not a fellow dog lover (I am reserving a column for my fellow cat lovers at another time), you can also be forgiven for now moving on from any further reading of my words here. In doing so, however, you will have missed out on reading about one of the greatest life lessons - and love stories - you may ever know.
Bella Dog (yes, that’s what we called her) came into our lives once upon a time. My son “rescued” her as a pup. (I am convinced that such “rescue” dogs also eventually “rescue” us with their love - and return it to us unconditionally - a hundredfold.)
Bella Dog was half pit bull and half greyhound, a beautifully put-together species, both swift and strong. Before my son rescued her, Bella Dog had suffered severely traumatic physical and mental injuries as a very young pup - having previously had her skull bashed in by someone you might (or might not) call human.
Over time Bella Dog continued to develop other health and anxiety issues, so my son and his dear wife eventually gave her to me - knowing I had much more time to care specifically for her.
Bella Dog always had my heart. And I evidently always had hers. She would howl sadly every single time I left the house without her. And she would squirm and squeal with what I can only call uncontrollable fits of joy upon any sight or sound of my return.
We hiked together somewhere every single day. We never (as in never) missed a day. Some days I took her twice, she loved it so much.
In a word, Bella Dog and I became inseparable. In fact, during our last ride to take our daily hike together, I looked at her and said, “Bella Dog, I’ve been hopin’ a gal would someday come along that would love everything about me just as I am. As I would her. And it finally happened.”
Little did I know that one beautifully bright Sunday morning (some three years ago now) was to be Bella Dog’s last day on Earth.
The last two pictures I ever took of her are shown here; Bella Dog loving on my dear granddaughter, Lenna Kate.
Early that fateful Sunday morning I took Bella Dog hiking up behind Avoca Elementary School in Bristol. This dog always minded me extremely well - perhaps better than any dog I ever knew (the only exception was when she saw a rabbit or geese). So up along the edge of the woods behind the ballfields near Avoca, I unleashed her to let her run along free with me a bit.
No sooner had I done so then I saw what grazed quietly in the open grassy field below us.
A flock of geese.
Bella Dog took after them in her own full flight. With her speed and strength, she easily caught up with them. (I should also note that I have no doubt Bella Dog almost certainly would not have harmed the geese. She saw all this as a game - a literal wild goose chase.) By sheer horrible luck, or fate, or the grace of God (or perhaps all three) she followed beneath the flying geese all the way to the Volunteer Parkway, then on across the four lanes of traffic and into the Avoca Christian Church front lawn.
I ran after her. Fast. Although I can hike 20 miles straight up and down mountains, I hadn’t run 300 yards in a straight all-out sprint in maybe 50 years. The lactic acid quickly built up in my legs. They suddenly quit working just before I reached the highway.
At that same moment Bella Dog turned and came running full speed back across the highway toward me. (I later kept reliving that moment in my mind, time after time. If only I had made myself run for maybe 3-4 more seconds I could have crossed the highway and gotten to her in time to save her.)
I do know that the last thing she saw in the instant before she died was me. She was running full speed toward me, with her eyes fixed on mine. I saw it all plain as day. She wore the most loving and excited look on her face, as if ready to tell me of her adventure chasing the geese.
Other than spending time with me, running full speed ahead was perhaps Bella Dog’s favorite thing to do.
The only solace I have had regarding her death is noting the fact that Bella Dog died looking at who she loved the most, while doing what she loved to do the most. That and the fact that her death was instantaneous. She apparently felt only a slight split second of pain. Her neck was completely snapped by a motorcycle going at full speed.
After hitting Bella Dog, the driver never even stopped to check on her. The collision didn’t slow him down in the slightest. He just continued to drive away. There were no other vehicles near Bella Dog at the time, in any of the four lanes. If she had made it past the lone motorcycle, she would easily have made it safely back to me.
My son, who loved Bella Dog every bit as much as I did, paid to have her body cremated. I have her ashes in an urn for now. When we eventually hope to feel more up to it, my son and I intend to spread some of her ashes along her favorite trail in the woods up behind Sunnybrook (exactly where some of my ashes will be spread after my body is cremated someday, too).
I suppose I will always feel a strong sense of guilt related to Bella Dog’s death. (Yes, we can all be prone to do that when those we love pass away.) Indeed, it is very difficult to describe this feeling fully. Bella Dog trusted me to protect her - and I failed. I did not expect the passage of time to fully relieve me of this guilt, and I can assure you that it has not. I feel my sense of guilt is still highly justified. Once again, my friends, as with so many things in this life, one must have experienced this feeling in full to truly understand the breadth and depth of it.
Upon knowing how deeply sad I felt about Bella Dog’s death, a friend sent me the following words, which I needed to hear. “Sweet Bella lives in the joyful moments of your existence. And that’s where she’s calling you to now.” In time, I have at least somewhat learned to heed these wise words. I am trying very hard to do so now, even now.
All in due time. Grieving must come first for the mind to heal - and each of us processes grief in different ways at different rates.
I never held an ounce of ill will toward the hit-and-run driver of the motorcycle. Though I do wish he could somehow know what a deeply loving soul he took out of this world (however accidental his actions may have been). Maybe he will know someday, somehow.
As is the way of dogs, I’m sure that Bella Dog will run to meet this man someday at the Rainbow Bridge - giving her full unconditional forgiveness, an act (seemingly impossible for so many humans) of which all dogs are divine masters.
Indeed, we can learn much about life - and about death - from a loyal and loving dog.
Even those who had their heads bashed in as pups. Maybe … even … especially those.