The Circle of Life

There is a bench at the top of what we call Lillia’s Way at Powdermills.  The steep incline was named after our boxer dog, Lillia, who walked with Sue and me the day we moved to Argyll.  She was nine years old and struggled but was determined to accompany us while we enjoyed the view down Loch Fyne.  The very next day, we lost her.  The effort it took for her to join us at the vantage point epitomised the qualities of Lillia.  Loyal, loving and wanting to be with us every second of the day.  She was our eighth boxer, and we decided to place a bench with a brass nameplate commemorating the lives of all the dogs that have been so much of our family life.  That was six years ago.  Many guests at Powdermills Bed and Breakfast have rested, breathed in the view and been part of the remembrance of our dogs.

            Boo, a red boxer, joined as a pup and is now in her seventh year, although you’d think she was one.  She’s top pedigree, bought from a leading Italian kennel with a Russian father; she’s royalty.  Mabel, a brindle who has just turned eight, comes from Cumbria, England; despite being from a great boxer lineage, she has the air of a mongrel.  Whereas Boo has been no trouble, Mabel, well, she’s like Amy in Louisa May Walcott’s Little Women.  Delicate and always ailing.  Her first epileptic fit occurred when she was nine months old.  It seemed inconsequential, but the fits became more regular and severe.  On one occasion, she was rushed to the Royal Dick’s Vet College in Edinburgh for intensive care. It was frightening as we’d never had a sickly dog, but the stress and worry made us care and love her intensely.

            Her prognosis wasn’t good, and we had a vet who suggested that we put her down.  But the consultant vet was confident that with drugs, she could have a long life.  That seemed a stretch for us, but we were committed to giving her the best life we could despite the cost of all her allergic treatments.  However, as she has grown older, her illnesses have multiplied.  We celebrated her birthday at the end of January, and she gave us her usual grumbling chat incessantly during the proceedings.  Mabel is the brightest dog we’ve ever had; she speaks to us until she makes us understand.  She’s driven by three things: food (she’s manically hungry due to the steroids), water (she’s always thirsty due to her medicines), and cuddles.  When she’s ready for a cuddle, Sue must drop everything to sit on the couch and stroke her into a deep, snoring sleep.

Mabel inspires me, and I wrote a poem of appreciation and love for her.

Mabel

I sit and wait for food

I know I must be good

I can feel my jowls slobber

But I don’t bother

I whine and twitch

Beef or pork. I don’t know which

I need to go for a walk

I can see the clock

My head is in a spin

The thunder starts to begin

Please throw me a ball

Before I have a fall

I feel I must run and run

I close my eyes to the sun

I don’t know where I am

My head is now in that jam

I start to fit, I feel ill

He comes with a kiss and a pill

Drugs ease her mood, which makes her drowsy and weak on her back legs.  Recently, she’s lost hair on her back, and little ulcers have emerged on her skin.  But through it all, she never seems to complain and only offers love, especially to Sue.   They’re inseparable, which is traumatic when Sue must visit her mother in England.

We know that she’s coming to the end of her life.  We’ve never had a boxer who lived past ten.  But the thought of losing her doesn’t make it easier; as I grow older, mortality is a concept that is harder and harder to fathom.  To lose something so precious, so unconditional is upsetting.

We have relaxed the rules with the dogs.  It’s usually a fight between Sue and me about how much access they get to our bed.  They skip onto Sue’s side of the bed in the wee hours, me oblivious.  Now, I’ve relented.   I want her remaining days, months, and, hopefully, years to be as good as they can be.  Of course, she’s taken a mile, and I’m bent double as she snugs in between us, and Boo rides the coattails of our sympathy.  The day will come, and it won’t be easy, but we know we’ve given Mabel a rich life many wouldn’t have.   

I dread the day that I fix a new brass plate on the bench commemorating Mabel’s life.  We’ve decided to call the vantage point Mabel’s View, but we hope it won’t be for years.