I like wisteria until you have to repair the wooden fence. The wisteria is beautiful and smells sweet. Still the vines spread around the crooks and crannies of the fence, twisting. The vines strengthen, grab hold and begin to crush and break parts of the fence. All these Bronte stories and sweet memories grow quickly in these entries, and just as fast as, they begin to twist with thoughts of the impending journey’s end. I know that’s what is going to happen; I know because as the days get closer I fight more to keep those thoughts from my mind and heart.
It’s getting harder to fend off these creeping thoughts. I’m terribly weak at her midnight med. I scramble an egg for her; watch her eat to get the med, and then let her out. That’s the moment, when I watch her just look for her “spot” in the yard. She then walks about a bit, checking on our safety. During the safety patrol, I tend to start losing strength. The reality that very soon I will lose my best friend. The phrase “this is the last….” is starting to slip in if I’m not careful.
I have such a hard time leaving for school in the morning knowing that it is time that I’m losing with Bronte. At some point, every morning on 95, I find tears at 60 mph. I’ve had to compose myself in the parking lot before going in. These past couple days I can hide a bit in my work because most don’t know. Except this morning, I show up at a meeting where a dear friend is also in attendance. I knew she knew. I knew she wanted to ask how I was. If I even opened my mouth, it would have gasping rivers down my face. My head down, I waved off my friend’s question.
Bronte is the trusted confidante that I never imagined. She is my first lifetime adult canine love really. There was a puppy that was with me only a few months and I lost to a car accident. Though I grew up with dogs, as an adult, I thought I shouldn’t have one until I lived at a house with a yard. A dog needed a yard. That’s how I saw it. I also had a pretty stilted idea of what I wanted in a dog. I wanted the equivalent of the “little new house with a white picket fence.” I wanted the cute little puppy, social and curious. A dog that played with everybody and everything. Trainable and well-behaved. Bronte arrived as none of those things. In truth, as anyone who knows me has heard, I didn’t want the scared abused little pitbull. She had too many issues, and well, she was a pitbull after all. Little did I foresee what she would grow into.
Well so much for all of that, a trainer, hours of work, and years later she became a wonderful work in progress. Many who know her now, could never imagine the little weak puppy she grew from. And very soon, I will have to face the world without her. She will take with her all of my secrets and confidences for the past twelve years. Bronte is a fabulous listener. Oh and gives words of support. Yes, she talks. Really. Most people with dogs, the family member kind of dogs, will tell you the same. Their dogs talk to them. Some of my dog friends and I will even even sit around and laugh about which dogs swear. We talk about how much they swear or not. Whether it’s just a simple word or two, or maybe the dog swears like a sailor. For the record, I think Bronte can swear a lot if provoked to it. I mean she is a pit, and has a poker face. We do keep appearances along the front fence. Even now, many might not guess how sick she is, how much her cancer is gripping around her bones.
The waggy butt sideways dancing, snoring, happy-greeting, trusting, listening “vicious” marshmallow “money” pit bull of my Bronte is going to go on without me because she got sick, and I have to let her go. Before her cancer wrecks her body and all that makes her the stoic little girl she is, she has to leave with colorful dignity. I can’t stop what the cancer started. This time before the beautiful wisteria completely destroys all that is and was the fence, I need to keep the choking vines from growing: sacrificing the beautiful wisteria