Crossing a bridge instead of burning it!

Today was a good day, but it could have been a very bad one… 

I’m finally learning that the difference between “good” and “bad” is largely MY choice. It really is a case of “mind over matter,” and if I don’t “mind” (that is, don’t put a negative spin on something) it won’t “matter” (at least to the degree of reacting to situations without due consideration of my options).

Therefore, it is THE day to begin my blog, which posits the new rule of my life: To cross every bridge that I come to instead of burning them all down out of fear of what may be on the other side!

I had spent the morning scouring discount stores to buy the remaining trivia of daily life that I hadn’t been able to pull in my truck and U-Haul trailer across the length (from south to north) of California. We all know that shopping is a primary pacifier in our extremely narcissistic national consumer culture – see YouTube’s amazing “The Story of Stuff” – even when the purchases are as mundane as mine. My list included clothes hangers (25 bucks for 50 “Slim Line nonslip”); a toilet brush ($4.99 or $7.99 or $21.99!?!); and, an “antique” (that is used, well-made, and cheap) desk and chair ($115). 

I shopped until I realized that my blood sugar had dropped (it was suddenly mid-afternoon!), so I did something I NEVER do – I went into a Marie Callender’s chain eatery and got the HAMBURGER Special (with fries and a slice of pie) for $10.99 (except that the pie actually shown on the special – the seasonal berry one – which was the one that I wanted, cost an extra 3 bucks!). I laughed softly to myself at the scam that this fast-food corporation is perpetrating on its customers instead of raging about it to the innocent young waitress, tapped the nearby Best Western Hotel’s free Wi-Fi while awaiting my extreme protein and cholesterol bomb, and found the following email (verbatim, save my improved punctuation) from the breeder of my beloved dog, Faris:

Hi [phd author],

Hopefully you are somewhere by now. Latest and last on Faris:

   Poor little guy parked himself outside my french doors to the bedroom and looked for you to come and get him; every now and then he did a little bark. I told him that there was nothing that I could do and that soon his waiting would be over.

   I put him down as there was nothing else to do. He accepted the vet and the needle in the leg with no struggle and when the barbs hit his heart, he let his head down and that was it. Very easy and utterly sad.

   I do hope that you have learned from this experience.

Best, Joe

Suddenly, the dining hall was spinning; my day was slipping out of my control as I began to react to this email message.

I had lived in a virtual 24/7 symbiosis with Faris for the 7 short years of his life. I only left him alone if I had to attend some function where dogs were not welcome (like teaching at the university). I didn’t go to restaurants much, only frequenting those with outside patios that were dog-friendly. Forget museums, concerts, the occasional movie, or even a friend’s house if they had cats or didn’t like dogs. How could Joe write such an unpleasant email to me? Why had he been tasked with putting Faris “down”? Why did I feel such a confluence of emotions now, just as the punked-out waitress was plunking down my all-American junk meal?

I have Faris’ 10-inch high medical file beside me as I write about this passive/aggressive missive from Joe the breeder. The “James Dean” of dogs, Faris lived fast – hurtling down streets after motorcycles at 30+ miles per hour while I clung to his leash with my right hand and my bicycle handlebar with my left – and died young – after racking up more than $40,000 in vet bills for various serious illnesses and injuries. His story will be randomly interspersed with mine in future blog entries, even though MY life is more like the Orson Welles of Baby Boomers (you know, “he showed early promise and moments approaching genius, but disappointed us all even as he got more egotistical and let himself go”)…

I got Faris after my mother died (“the only diapers I have ever changed” as her at-home hospice care primary provider). Yet a mere 7 months after bringing a joyful puppy into my bereft and depressed post-Mom life, I became the primary care provider to a dog. After a 5-week trek to diverse specialists, and the brink of paralysis and death, a vet neurologist finally figured out that my puppy had meningitis. The failed treatments coupled with the eventual successful diagnosis cost over $8,000, but it was the round-the-clock care, his bloodcurdling cries of pain when he moved a fraction of an inch in his sleep, and the daily wasting away of what had been a briefly vibrant and beautiful puppy that cost the most. Psychic pain trumps fiscal disaster every time.

Having endured and superseded just that one crisis – and Faris was to have 4 life-threatening episodes – made the current condescension of Joe’s e-note hard to take. But, as I dug into the just delivered burger I decided that I was both relieved and elated that my boy, who had burned so brightly for too short a time, was finally resting in peace. I had learned that there were no cures for what ailed Faris, just resource-wasting efforts to extend his fading life for a few weeks, a couple months, or perhaps a languishing year. Joe had always insisted that he wanted me to return Faris to his natal home if I could no longer care for him. And I thought that Joe was right once we arrived at the breeder's rural property. Faris was so happy to see his mother, uncle, and his first human “daddy.” But the above email from Joe revealed that the breeder actually had resented my leaving Faris in his care...

While there may be other dog owners as devoted as I was to him, I can’t believe anyone spent more time, money, and emotion on their dog than I did on Faris. Joe had said as much in an earlier email, responding to my recitation of his latest round of serious illnesses, medications, and my exhaustion as follows:

[phd author], 

Well, how really awful. 

   I know of no homes that would take on what you are talking about [with Faris]. No one would take this on. I will gladly take him back but he cannot live in the manner that you have set up. Such needs and total dependence on the owner is really unprecedented and would have to be someone with money and devoted to 24 hr care. No such exists that I am aware of. 

   So very very sorry. Joe

PS: If all else fails I will take him back and care for him as best that I can.

This earlier message inclined me to bring him “home” instead of dragging him further north when it was clear to me that the end was near. I didn’t feel that I was abandoning him, but allowing him to complete the circle of his life... 

Indeed, when we detoured from the 101 freeway to head west to Santa Cruz, Faris revived in the cooler ocean air. He literally began leaping and yipping for joy when we arrived at the breeder's place, greeted by the barks of his pack in the nearby barnyard corral. And, in Joe’s cottage, Faris wagged his long tail excitedly and repeatedly did the “downward dog” posture of playfulness at Joe’s feet. I left Faris sniffing thoroughly in the adjacent dog-run, with no reason to believe that Joe’s offer to care for him in his final days was insincere.

But, now sitting in the hamburger joint I felt at the brink of conflicting emotions: anger and guilt. However, I decided not to bang out a self-righteous e-response to Joe’s final missive about Faris, nor torment myself about a lesson “I should have learned.” Rather than lose my control over my day, rather that burn another bridge – with either the blaming breeder or my own peace of mind at my boy’s demise – I decided to stay in control, and to cross this bridge consciously, focusing on the many wonderful memories I have of the life Faris shared with me.

I want to live the rest of my life willing to cross every bridge that I encounter, without depression, despair, or (self-)blame for what has gone before or is yet to come. This is what my blog is about: Examining why and how I burned so many bridges in my past, and my current effort to change that seemingly instinctual "fight or flight" response as I confront new bridges in my future.