Doggie Bagels

Such little things will break my day. I’ll be moving along in my day and the immediate pending loss of Bronte is not thumping in my heart. Then as fast as a car runs a traffic light, I’ll be blindsided.

Yesterday, I stopped in an Einstein Bagel’s to get a cup of coffee. I stood while my Carmel Macchiato was steamed.  My eyes caught a large jar with smaller plain looking bagels. The jar was marked “Doggie Bagels.” Slowly my eyes started to well up. I tried to breathe deep and look way. Breathe deep, “it’ll go away,” I told myself. My cheeks were grew warm and I could feel the stream. I wiped. You know the subtle one finger swipe. Then it was both cheeks, and both sets of fingers.

Finally the coffee was done and I could go.

I got in my car and just balled. I cried and cried. I wouldn’t be buying her those impulse treats when shopping. Or vacation treats or souvenirs.  Past trips rushed by, simple treats, like gourmet cookies from a little shop from Culpepper, VA. I remembered when I had to go looking for a certain kind of soccer ball. The list is long, but it isn’t the list of memories. It’s that I can’t add to the list.

As soon as I thought about how I wouldn’t add to the list, I had a moment of guilt because I thought that I was selfishly thinking of me. Thinking of what I couldn’t do.


Bronte’s Journey

Bronte’s world began twelve years ago. Our world together began when she was six months. Bronte is a pitbull and I am her mistress. Our life together has had its joys and challenges. Now we have one more journey to share together. Bronte has oral cancer and a few months.

All her life, Bronte has always chosen the higher road, the harder choice, the road lesser traveled. In her death, it seems it will be no different, as she will be leaving it up to me, asking me to support her last choice. When I was first told of her prognosis, such was my reaction, “Of course, she’d make me do it. She never makes anything easy.” All of her  ’emergency room’ adventures rushed through my memory as I said it. Even though Bronte makes these tough choices, she has always supported them with a stoic face, no hint of a wince.

For most of our journey together, I may have thought I was the leader of our pack, but now I’m learning that this last part has her in charge. I am indeed her mistress. I am indeed her servant to do her beckon call, to carry out her wish. Everyday I wonder how.