She is writing an essay of her own, happily tapping away at the computer with her new dog tucked behind her on the chair. I sneak a look at the title. "The Story of Dottie: How a Dog Can Heal You." While I'm delighted to see Ana writing for fun, like I do, I'm made even happier by her confirmation of the miracle I see taking place.
She's been grieving quietly for a year and a half for Minnie. I knew the sadness lingered, but didn't realize just how scarred she'd been by the traumatic loss of her little pug. Minnie had been her gift for her 5th birthday, a consolation for being the only girl in a family of 3 boys. They were accordingly as close as sisters. At a petite 14 pounds, Minnie was just the right size for doll clothes and stroller rides, for sleeping in the crook of a small arm.
In the ensuing 5 years, our family was completed with one more human boy and two cats. Minnie, her coat jet black and glossy, began to grey prematurely. She was a quiet and gentle dog who enjoyed sitting in the sunshine and watching the kids play. When she wasn't with Ana, she was with Leo, my own pug. They moved in a pair, circling my feet in the kitchen, reminding me of sharks and making a synchronized effort to look forlornly starved.
I was at work when I got the news that I had unknowingly run her over on my way out of the driveway. Horribly injured, she had dragged herself through the yard until Brian found her. She died a short time later, her body seizing, her eyes wide with pain and betrayal. The children watched in fear as death touched them intimately for the first time. Still at work, I got a heart wrenching email from Ana. "Mommy, it's Ana. My Minnie died."
I drove home slowly, knowing that her tiny body waited for me. She was so broken, still and already cold. They had wrapped her in Elijah's quilt in a heartbreaking attempt at making her comfortable in death. Holding her close, I breathed tearful apologies into her shiny fur. Leo sat nearby, his presence comforting. I wondered if he understood that he had just lost his sister and best friend. I think he did.
Brian buried her the next day near the edge of the yard, marking the spot with a large stone. We gathered around her grave that evening to say goodbye to her. I did my best to answer the hard questions every parent dreads. Why did she die? Why couldn't the vet have fixed her? Was she cold in the ground?
I have a picture of 9 year old Ana, her heart heavy with grief, staring vacantly at the spot where her innocence was newly buried. I didn't know it then, but it was the beginning of the end of her childhood. A year and a half later, the turbulence of adolescence hit. With it came the realization that the loss of Minnie had left a gaping wound in her heart that time wasn't healing.
Then, by the hand of the Great Orchestrator and with the help of human guardian angels, Dottie came. She appeared on a beautiful late fall day, just like Casey had almost exactly a year before. Also like Casey, it was a chain of serendipity that led her to us.
There the similarities end. Sixty pounds of boisterous boy, Casey bulldozed his way into our world. Tiny Dottie daintily sashayed across a patch of grass at the dog park, her long coat floating along the ground like the wings of a sting ray over the ocean floor. She took time to appraise the situation—and us—before lying down near Ana.
We brought her home the next day and it was immediately clear what her purpose in life was and that she knew it. Hours after we brought Dottie home, Ana emerged from her room in tears with an already-devoted Dottie in her arms. "I feel Minnie," she said, "I see Minnie in Dottie's eyes."
Dottie has melded in perfectly with the rest of the family. Initially, she was cautious with Casey, but now she chases him. It's a ridiculous sight, a big sleek dog running gleefully away from a tiny fluffy one. She has found a nice warm spot near Brian on the couch, where she can wait all day for Ana to come home from school. The gentleness of her spirit is so pervasive that even Casey, when he first met her, gently lay down and offered her my shoe. Leo, who is surprisingly protective of his home for one so round and lazy, took little notice of her. He opened one eye and let it slowly drift itself shut after discerning that she belonged in the picture.
Dottie's new "uncles", the boys, literally welcomed her with open arms. She is another easy bone of contention as they argue over holding her first and holding her longest. Their clamoring is pointless, though, because her heart belongs to Ana. The uncles are relegated to the role of lucky babysitters.
We've had her a week today and each day I've seen another bit of my girl re-emerge. Always a troubled sleeper, she has been sleeping soundly with her little fluffball of a dog resting by her feet. Never a morning person, she has been getting up early to do Dottie's hair along with her own. Not much of a housekeeper, she has arranged her room to give Dottie a small dining area and even her own labeled drawer for hair supplies. Best of all, her spark is back, along with her smile. My camera is working overtime as I try to capture the abundant joy one little dog has brought to our home. At night, I sneak into the "the girl's room" and pick up the little white dog and thank her, in the same voice I used to say goodbye to Minnie, for coming to us.
