Notes on Grief (3): A Spiritual Exercise

Having listed and briefly described various thoughts and feelings that comprise my experience of grief at Zoe’s fatal illness and death, I will now proceed in a different way: I want to try to move from the feelings and disturbing thoughts into the “peace of God that surpasses all understanding.” Note that I do not feel this peace now, but I know from experience and by faith that God’s peace is freely available to those who seek it. And I want to enter into His peace. I feel grief as a response to the perceived loss of someone I have loved deeply. Sorrow is part of the experience of love. But it need not dominate or overwhelm a soul. When Rummy died in 2005 (the day before I brought home Zoe), I experienced intense grief that affected me for months. It is not that I love Zoe less than I love Rummy, for I love each of these creatures as well and as whole-heartedly as I possibly can. Having passed through months of painful grief for Rummy, and understanding how love can slowly transform grief into joy, I seek, as noted, the peace of God in whom alone grief becomes joy. Stated psychologically, I do not want to torture myself or make myself suffer grief more than I must; rather, I want to help restore peace, joy, and vitality to my life. I could ask: Is that not what I would want for someone else?  Is that not what my dear Zoe would want for me? Does it not honor our love better if I seek to live the love more in God, and not within the recesses of my private self? What do I mean? That I must seek to open my soul to the reality and presence of God, and not be self-enclosed. In beginning any good work or activity, as St. Benedict instructs us, one should ask for the God of all goodness to help bring the work to completion. Seeking peace is indeed a good activity, and one seeks God’s peace by turning to God. Although verbal prayer is not necessary for the turning around of the soul, it can be a useful means to help direct the soul towards and into the presence of the living God: Dear God and Creator of all, your little creatures need your wisdom and goodness. Zoe needs You for life eternal, I need You for the peace which surpasses human reasoning. And we all need You to transform our imperfect lovings into a genuine sharing in You, the one true and complete Love. From You each comes forth, to You each returns, and in You alone each has its being, for You are being itself, that which simply is. I ask that You receive your beloved Zoe, whom I have loved as a little daughter to me, into the abyss of your mercy, and let her live in You alone. I freely surrender her to You, and yield up all claim that this wonderful creature is in any way mine. She is yours. And I ask that You also receive my heavy heart into the abyss of your divine mercy, that I may experience your peace, and sorrow may yield to joy in You alone. I am not asking for a miracle; and yet, I do ask for a miracle: a radical change of heart from self-centeredness and interior isolation and darkness, into a heart and mind fully and truly open to You. In You is Life, goodness, peace. And in loving and in doing your will is our peace, as Dante reminds us. So your will be done: receive Zoe, receive me, into a deeper and truer union with You that costs nothing but the surrender of ourselves to You, who are Life, Love, Joy. We give up everything in ourselves, even our life, and receive All in You. That is quite a good deal You give us, is it not? So little given, and so much received. And You give in the measure that we open ourselves to the gift of You.                                                *** I am in You, as Zoe is in You. I see no thing, but I feel a quiet peace, a stillness, as in the pause between two breaths. “Ceso todo,” everything ceases, as San Juan de la Cruz wrote. I feel, as it were, a gentle fanning of a refreshing breeze. And I know that I am not here because I am worthy to be here, but I am worthy because I am here, as Plotinus teaches. You have chosen me far more than I have chosen You; I merely say “Yes” to your eternal Yes. It is You who opens the door and floods in, and I enter into your flooding presence, and rest in You, and You in me. When You open, why should I not enter—enter into the joyful light so blazing that I am blind to it, but it penetrates me nonetheless. You are here. “I in you, and you living in Me.” In You alone am I truly, and in You alone is all that I truly love. Here, presently unseen by me, are all of our dear friends, human and creaturely: not parts of You, not dissolved into You, but each distinctly being in your one divine Being. Each is here as I am here: a guest, welcomed, received, at home, in peace. God of all goodness, Lord of all love, I thank You for Life, for my life, for Zoe’s, for Rummy’s, and for my dear parents, and for Binti’s, and Romulus’ life, and for all the good people You have asked me to help tend in this world, and for each whom You have so generously given us to love, and help to tender home to You. Nothing is, unless it is in You; and all in You is forever, as You are forever. Deathless One, ever-living One, Beauty of all beauties, Wisdom beyond all knowing, attained only through the open door of love. I thank You, dear Life, for Zoe’s life, and for having created such a wonderful and beautiful creature, such a creative and indomitable spirit. Thank you for showing me glimpses of your goodness and wisdom in such an original creature. You penetrate each and all, and yet we often fail to recognize, fail to understand. But love recognizes, acknowledges, rejoices, gives thanks. Into your hands, into your heart, I commend the spirit of Zoe. I withhold nothing back, for all comes from You, and to You each returns. And I freely give myself back to You now: “Let it be done to me according to your will,” whether to live here, or back there. Only cease to be I cannot do, for You are, and all and each is in You forever. Here in You are so many friends I thought hidden “in death’s dateless night”—Brother Dominic, Father Daniel, Professor Voegelin, and all whom I have loved in the passing light, the shadow of your eternity. These souls are hidden to us in time, but they are utterly transparent to You, seer of all. And these friends have pointed me to You, and I honor them, as I come to You: not only those whom I have known in the flesh, but spirits who have spoken to me from eternity through the past: even Moses and the prophets, Socrates and the philosophers, and so many saintly men and women, and little creatures displaying your goodness and glory. The glory of All, your glory, is seen in each, and each in You. Here in You there is no separation, no division, no emptiness, but ever-flooding fullness of Your being and divine Life into each. “So why yield to grief, little soul, when the one you love so dearly is filled forever with all the fullness of God"?  Do you not know? Have you not heard, little soul, that I create each for my glory, which means, forever? O you of little faith, why did you doubt? Why be afraid? Do you not have faith?  I AM WHO AM—just ask Moses!—and each and all are in Me forever. So come to me, you who labor and are heavy burdened in your self, and I will truly refresh you in Me.”                                                   *** And so I see that it is not for me to offer Zoe back to God, for she belongs to God forever, but to offer to God all in me that is not from God: fear, doubt, grief, guilt, ill-will. It is for me to surrender all that I am and have to He Who Is. And it is for me to thank the Creator for His Presence in such delightful creature, including my beloved Zoe. And I add one more note: In the still hours before Zoe died, around 0100 in the morning, as she lay on the floor at the foot of the stairs, I prayed out loud the Lord’s prayer, the Our Father, over her, slowly and clearly. As I prayed—“thy Kingdom come, thy will be done”—she raised her head and looked up into my eyes. I could see only one of her eyes, but that was enough. In her eying me, I saw You. The look in her eye brought Your Passion immediately and vividly to mind. In other words, I saw You, my God, suffering in her, and for me. And it was from this experience that I immediately became open to the vet’s guidance to let her die at the right time. “It is enough,” I thought, “depart in peace, my little one.”

Notes on Grief (2): Complex Effects of Grief

Penned 29-30 Jan I assume, for good reason, that what I am experiencing with Zoe’s death yesterday is what is usually called “grief.” What I am finding is not a single emotion or experience, but a highly complex set of feelings and thoughts. Not only do feelings of intense sorrow come in waves, but so do diverse memories, thoughts, actions. It may seem like an odd exercise for one whose beloved dog died yesterday, but seeking to understand what I am going through is both the way my mind works, and a means to have some degree of rational control over the heavy emotional experience. Note that I am not suppressing feelings, but seeking to understand them. I offer a tentative list of diverse feelings and thoughts related to the Zoe’s death shortly before 3:00 pm on 28 January: (1) Waves of sorrow suddenly flood me, sometimes with tears and outbursts of words, such as “Zoe, my little girl.” These waves of sorrow are often unexpected, but I notice that expressions of consolation by a friend on the phone can trigger them.  At times I have cried with Moses, but he seems unmoved, even puzzled or bothered when I cry, and I believe that it is not helpful for him. He responds well to songs or expressions of joy. As the waves of sorrow fill me suddenly, I can with a firm choice quiet them for the time being, but usually only after a few seconds of crying. (2) Memories of Zoe have been rising into consciousness. Many are happy ones, wonderful moments with Zoe ever since I brought her home when she was 8 weeks old. Some of these provoke a smile or even gentle laughter. More recent memories, of the past couple of months of illness (which proved fatal), are more disturbing, painful, and arouse sorrow. Still, these memories urge to be remembered. Again, I do not suppress them from rising into consciousness, but let them surface. (3) Somewhat to my surprise, as I am doing manual work or domestic chores, or walking across a room, I find myself suddenly just speaking aloud a few words or a short sentence. Some of these sudden ejaculations are in music, such as whistling one of the many tunes I used to whistle when Zoe, Moses, and I were engaged in various activities. Some verbal phrases do not make much rational sense to me, and leave me wondering, “Why did I say that?” Underneath consciousness, my feelings are churning, and so these little verbal or musical utterances just well up and express themselves. (4) I clearly have feelings / thoughts of guilt about Zoe’s final illness and death. I wonder if in some way I caused her to have cancer, or neglected signs that she was ill. As I have never favored euthanasia, unless a creature is in extreme pain, with no chance of recovery, I wonder if I made a mistake having Zoe injected on 28 January. As my friend Bob W says, “You will never know if you did right.”  I must live with the decision, and know that I gave the word to inject her. Had she died at home, in pain or agony, I would surely feel guilty for that, as well. From experience with myself and in dealing with others, I know well that guilt is a very common component of grief, and something most of us live with. In such a case, I think that surrendering to God seems to be the best cure, for only God knows what is truly best, and I trust that God forgives our mistakes done in good conscience. (5) In addition to guilt and strong sorrow, perhaps the most disturbing feelings I have, accompanied with thoughts, can best be described as mild shock and horror. These feelings significantly intensified on 14 January, when I heard the diagnosis that Zoe had terminal cancer, and would live “two weeks to two months.”  She lived for two weeks. What I feel at times is a numbness in my body and spirit, as if part of me suddenly died. The horror arises as one whom I love so dearly neared death, and then died.  It is as if one were standing on the edge of a cliff with no bottom, and about to be shoved over the cliff. If we love someone, their death is ours as well, to a degree. I do not think that I am fearing my own death, but I surely fear the loss of my dear Zoe to death. Here again, the only consolation I know comes in faith: “When God gives life, He gives it eternally.”  But the reality of the death of one I have loved so much still haunts my soul beneath consciousness.

Notes on Grief (1): A Surprise From Moses

Grief wells up, with its diverse moods and thoughts. Among the memories brought up the day after Zoe died is the final scene of Shakespeare’s King Lear, which seems to me the most moving scene in English drama. King Lear walks onto the stage carrying the dead body of his beloved daughter, Cordelia, and cries out,

“Howl, howl, howl, howl  O! you are men of stones:
Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so
That heavens vaults should crack.  She’s gone for ever.
I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
She’s dead as earth….”

In the midst of feeling grief amidst flashes of memories running through my mind today, I called Bob Williams to see how he is doing. It was Bob who had driven Zoe, Moses, and me to several places yesterday on our last visits together. After I returned to the car when Zoe had died, at about 3 in the afternoon, I asked Bob how he was doing, and he mentioned that it was rough for him while Zoe and I were in the vet’s clinic for her last moments. Zoe and I had been in the clinic for about 20 minutes. I assumed that Bob’s rough time had been caused by the fact that his dear dog had been euthanized only six weeks ago. So I called Bob today to thank him for taking us on this painful last mission, and I asked how he was doing. I explicitly asked about the rough time he had had in the car, when Zoe was being “put to sleep.” Bob said that he would tell me later, but I implored him to tell me now. What he said surprised me. This is what happened:

After the vet injected a medicine to put Zoe to sleep (not to die), I stayed with her a while, speaking to her quietly, and then removed her red scarf and green collar. I petted her head, and told her that I would be right back. I took my jacket, the scarf, and collar to the car, where Bob and Moses were waiting, parked right in front of the clinic. I said that the vet had not injected Zoe with the fatal medicine yet, but would do so shortly. I returned to the clinic, and remained with Zoe; soon Dr. Micki entered, we talked briefly, and she administered the final drug. Within a few moments, Zoe died. I stayed for a couple of minutes as the vet finished her work and confirmed death.

Today Bob reluctantly told me what happened in my absence, as Zoe’s life was being ended. He said that Moses suddenly howled, and looked up at the window and front door of the vet clinic, next to where they were parked. Then he laid down.

Moses howled as Zoe was dying. He howled and looked towards her. This dog Moses, whom I have considered slow and rather imperceptive compared to Zoe,very rarely howls—in fact, only when I play some dissonant chords on a keyboard, and hurt his ears. For reasons unknown to us, Moses howled as Zoe died. He may well be more perceptive or intuitive than I have realized. He surely loved Zoe very deeply, having lived with her from the time he was eight weeks old. In effect, Zoe was his foster mother.

A Little Note On Love

Zoe mothering Moses - 24 Jan 2014 Love does not keep still, waiting for the other to love. Nor does love wait to see goodness in the other, before being willing to venture forth in love. Love goes out of itself now. It is grounded on a firm choice, a willingness to love the other, despite the cost or possible rejection, despite real or imagined defects in the one chosen to love. By loving, love may create, or more likely further and develop the good in the one loved. Application: I will not wait to see traits in Moses to “earn” my love.  I will not look for him to remind me of my beloved Zoe, or Rummy. Rather, I choose to love Moses dearly, kindly, truly, intensely: not because of him, but because of love’s free choosing. And note that I will not put love away for another day, or for eternity. Nor will I say, “I cannot love you now, for I feel such grief for the loss of Zoe.” No, that is not the way of love, either. Love says, “Even though I may hurt, and miss her or him so much, I will love you here and now as well as I possibly can.”  And love also knows that in loving anew, the lover honors all whom he or she has loved before. Love is ever the venturing forth into Life, not as one wishes it to be, but as it is.

Zoe

Fr. Paul with Zoe on 24 January 2014

Dear friends, Zoe died in our vet's office around 3:00 pm on January 28. I was with her.   I will write more later. For now, I thank you for your love, concern, prayers.   In Christ, Fr. Paul, with Moses

A Note on a Few Basics of the Christian Life

As our Mass readings and liturgical celebrations have moved from Christmas to Ordinary Time, the thrust of our attention is changed from the mystery of God becoming flesh in Christ to Jesus’ ministry and our response to him. Beginning with the Sunday of the Baptism of Jesus and clearly continuing through Weeks III-IV of the year (the present bulletin), the readings serve to remind us of the foundation of our life in Christ: God’s presence in Christ; invitations to respond to God’s “Kingdom” (Presence) here and now; the call to faithful discipleship to Christ; the blessings of the Lord upon his faithful people. As ever happens, the readings and prayers are far richer than anyone can absorb or truly do justice to. In your listening to the readings and homilies at Mass, and in sharing in the prayers and Eucharist, you are given the opportunity to renew your fidelity to Christ, your whole-hearted response to God-in-Christ-Jesus. Christ’s gospel and call to you and to all should not be heard primarily as spoken to members of Christian churches, nor to practicing Jews (Jesus’ people), but to “the poor in spirit,” to human beings who keep learning their need for God’s goodness and truth. To become a disciple of Jesus, and to live as a faithful and maturing disciple, you and I must be open to the action of God in us, and not restrict His action to working within the walls of a church, or to church members. In other terms, there is an “ever-deep-down-freshness” in Christ’s actions and words that should make us wonder, “Am I truly a disciple? Or am I going through the motions of being a church-attending Christian? What is the cost of this discipleship? What is gained by it? Does Jesus actually want me, personally and really, to live as He did? What in my life is out of harmony with fidelity to Christ? What am I doing that truly embodies Jesus Christ in this world, among the people with whom I live and work? Is Jesus Christ really calling me here and now to be a better disciple?” The Gospel stories we hear of the call of the first disciples are meant as examples of what we are to do: Listen, obey, let go of whatever is not according to Christ, follow His lead. We are being drawn to live a life of ongoing conversion, not a once-for-all “I got saved,” or “I found the true Church.” You and I must keep seeking to live in obedience to the indwelling Spirit, who is ever drawing us out of self-enclosed life into an open dialogue with the living God. Faith is required each step of the way, and faith will show itself in love of God, and genuine charity (love) for whomsoever we meet. Faith leaves no man, woman, or child content with their “spiritual life” or “Church membership” as it is. Faith opens one up to the Kingdom, to the Presence of God here and now, and in ways that ever go beyond our understanding, and take us out of our “comfort zones.”  There is nothing ordinary about genuine faith.

On Having Zoe "Put To Sleep"

A note I jotted down at 0400 on 27 January Both dogs have been outside early today (around 0300), and are now in the living room with me: Moses on the other end of the sofa, Zoe lying in front of me on the floor. The question I ask, and wrestle with: Should I take Zoe to Dr. Micki today to have her life ended by an injection? Why, and why not? Because our vet gave her no chance of recovery, diagnosing terminal cancer, Zoe’s health continues to slide away. I keep asking myself: Am I prolonging her dying for no purpose? And yet, since the diagnosis on 14 January, nearly two weeks ago, we have had some good adventures—running, chasing deer, photographing, taking walks together, rides in the car, quiet hours on the sofa, and so on. Then again, over the weeks, her health has clearly declined, with several most visible signs: her appetite has waned; her energy has decreased; her desire to lie down for long times in the cold outside has increased; she has been drinking vast quantities of water until the past 24 hours or so; her muscles have languished; and at the same time, her abdomen has become engorged with fluid produced by the tumors. Now she seems sleepy. What is gained by prolonging her dying? That is the question. It is not for me to cling to her as she exists tin he world. On the contrary, my duty is to let her die in peace, surrendering her back to our Creator. Yes, I love her, and yes, her face and coat remain beautiful. But why make her endure her own wasting away? What good could come to Zoe, to Moses, to me?  She looks tired, fatigued, and without a viable chance of recovery, why not have her “put to sleep”? “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die…” That Zoe is dying is evident. Will I ask our vet to speed up the final stage, and let Zoe die peacefully?  And if so, when? What alternative, if any, do we have? I will consult Dr. Micki today, and trust her judgment. If one does not trust the medical opinions of his or her physician or veterinarian, then one should find another health care professional. I trust Dr. Micki, and we shall consult in a couple of hours via text messaging. And then I have early Mass, and a meeting with a parishioner.                                                 *** Note on 27 January at 0700 I have texted Dr. Micki about timing for euthanasia, and asking about death from carcinoma in her abdomen, with the fluid build-up.  If we let “nature run its course,” what is to be expected? Would it be painful to Zoe? One vet told me that such cancer is not painful, and so far, I have not heard groans or seen signs that Zoe is in real pain. Surely she is uncomfortable from the fluid build-up, but she experienced much discomfort in her life with arthritis, especially in a front leg, preferring to run on it rather than to miss her daily run with Moses. As I have been considering euthanasia today—despite my reservations about “mercy killing” unless one is truly in unbearable pain—Zoe utterly surprised me. She has been weak in the night, although she has remained continent, and still climbs up and down the long stair cases in the rectory. From 0300 to 0600 or so, she lay on the floor in front of me in the living room, and then climbed up onto the sofa. Then came the surprise. I entered the shower, and felt a cold breeze, finding the bathroom door pushed open. There was Zoe, laying next to the shower, as she has done since she was a pup when I would take a shower. That she takes such initiative, regardless of how she may feel (weak, fatigued, uncomfortable), speaks of her indomitable spirit, and makes me question hastening her death. As noted, I texted my vet to ask about timing for euthanasia. Her response will be my standard for deciding: “The cancer will cause a slow and steady fade as we are seeing. My feeling is that intervention should take place: 1. If she goes 48-72 hours with no food intake; 2. Refuses or is unable to engage in normal activities with you for more than 24 hours; 3. Unable to hold bowels/bladder (obviously for cleanliness and dignity’s sake). “The cancer that kills our Goldens most frequently is often a swift and unexpected killer….I am not sure which would be worse. I can appreciate your and Zoe’s anguish. Yours the worse for capacity to understand.  Awful.” Finally, my anguish is not nearly as bad as it would be when I keep surrendering her back to the Creator, thanking God for the eight, delightful years we have had together.  My desire is to do what is best for Zoe, for whom I have been a care-taker in this world.

As Zoe Nears Death

In the Swan Valley From observation and speaking with my vet, I understand that Zoe may have a few more days to live. Her abdomen is badly swollen from fluids produced by the cancerous tumors. She ate a little today, jogged a little, but is quiet, pensive, as if contemplating. I wonder if she knows that she is dying? She does not groan as if in pain, but the fluid build-up must be uncomfortable for her. Zoe makes no complaint, shows no agitation, no resentment. Again I am lead to consider how heroic and virtuous dogs seem to me compared to most of us two-legged creatures, myself included. I stroke her head, kiss her, and tell her how grateful I am for our time together. But I do not linger long with her. She needs respectful silence. Still, as I touch her beautiful skin, her hanging ears, I am aware that soon I will never touch her again. Zoe has deeply touched my heart. My love for her will yield to waves of intense grief, and I will give grief its due.  But I still prefer another way: “Into your hands, good Lord, I commend the body and spirit of beautiful, wonderful creature. You entrusted her to me for eight years, and for our time together, I thank you with my whole heart. You have truly enriched my life through Zoe, through our love, through our adventures. Having seen you in Rummy, I have never doubted your presence in Zoe, who in a number of evident ways is more like you than I am. There is no darkness in your Zoe, no ill-will, no despair, no petty-mindedness. She is the creature You created her to be. She has played her creaturely role very well. And she has been a delightful source of blessing to me—from the day I brought her home, to this day, to our last few days together, and I believe, into eternity. Zoe is near death, and soon will disappear into the utter silliness, into “death’s dateless night.” All communication with her will cease, except for the longings of the heart, and memories, and a naked trust that as your creature, LORD God, Zoe lives in You alone. I will experience her death and loss, and only through the gift of faith in You will I have any sense that she is yours forever. “The Lord has given, the Lord is taking away, blessed be the name of the Lord.”

In a Birthday Card to Fr. Paul From Zoe, Whose Full Name Is Amazoa

Zoe, on her birthday - Oct 2013 Dear Papa, Please try not to be too sad on this your special day [Jan 21]. I want you to know how much I love you, and how much I've appreciated all of your tender care. I'm going to let you in on a little secret. All those times I tested your patience, and caused you to get all excited and nervous, I knew exactly what I was doing, because I had a feeling that one day you and Moses would be a team without me. I hope I have accomplished the task. You will do me great honor by sharing with others how loving us has enriched your life and brought you closer to God. You and Moses will be just fine. He told me so! All my love, dear Papa, from your one and only, Amazoa.

Update, January 24, 2014

Indomitable spirit

Dear family and friends,

People who have seen Zoe at the door or in passing remark on “how good she looks.” They do not see the reality. Her bones are prominent, her muscle mass is small, she refuses all food now. No, she is not doing well, but on a slide towards death. It is painful to see, but nature is indeed “running its course.”

Still, if she will get out of the car, I will take her for a walk this morning, after early Mass, a brief photography session I asked for (I have virtually no photograph of Zoe and me together), and then a meeting with the bookkeeper. By 1000, if she is up to the outing, we shall drive to Sweeney’s farm for a little walk together.

It is ironic that Moses has been my weaker dog, and often sickly. Zoe was a portrait of robust health, except for some arthritis, which she did her best to ignore. Moses has many more white hairs, although he is younger; he has bad allergies (I have long suspected wheat, gluten, or yeast); he has an ACL/JCL ligament problem that affects him, especially after running and jumping.

Even now, with Zoe not eating and weaker, she takes time to clean out Moses’ ears, and lick off his face. She is ever the devoted mother. I keep wondering if Moses is aware that Zoe is near death. We do not know well what these little creatures know or do not know. I imagine that both of us will miss Zoe very much. We will bond all the better, I believe, but our relationship will change in ways I do not expect without the guiding and ruling presence of Zoe.

Love to all,
Fr. Paul, Zoe and Moses

On Being Thankful for Zoe, Parts I and II

All life is uncertain, but that uncertainty is intensified by a prognosis of imminent death.

Now while Zoe lives on earth, a creature among creatures, and I can think with some calmness, I want to be grateful for the privilege I have had to know and to care for this amazing creature.

There is a line in one of the Hebrew psalms that is translated, “In time of wrath, Lord, remember to have compassion.” God cannot “forget” compassion, for “mercy” or “compassion” are but other names for the divine nature. I think that this line of poetry comes to mind because I need to remember: In times of testing or suffering, remember to be grateful, choose to give thanks. And so I shall now give thanks for Zoe’s life.

Our families have housed dogs over the decades, but in my time away from family, on my own, I have lived with and cared for only three dogs: Rummy (2001-2005); Zoe (2005—); and Moses (2007—).  All three are black Labrador Retrieves, all from authorized breeders, all registered members of the American Kennel Club, all with some field and national champions among their direct ancestors. Each of the Labs has displayed itself as a truly unique being. The two males, Rummy and Moses, have been easy to care for, in part because they are willing to please me, and so obedient. Zoe, the first born of ten pups in her mother’s litter, has been the very embodiment of Alpha Female. As much as she has tried my patience at times, her remarkably good qualities have ever earned my love and respect.

Who is Zoe? It is impossible to define reality or a part of reality. No verbal formulations can do justice to the nature and character of a being, and so not to Zoe. Still, a few characterizations seem fitting, as I seek to give thanks for such a wonderful creature of the unseen Creator.

I am thankful for having had the courage to purchase Zoe from a reputable breeder of Labradors the day after Rummy died.  Had I waited to get another dog, as I thought I would do, I would have missed one of the memorable adventures of my adult life:  living with and caring for Zoe. When I visited the Lone Willow Kennels on 21 December 2005, there were three pups left from a litter: two chocolate males, one black female. I had expected to purchase another male, for I so loved Rummy. Watching the three pups play and interact, the black female appealed to me: She utterly dominated her two brothers as they played with a tennis ball; she controlled the ball the whole time. The breeder had wanted to keep this female for breeding, but he was willing to place her in a very good home, and asked that I would consider letting him breed her later, and I agreed. With grief in my heart and tears on my cheeks for Rummy’s death just the day before, I picked up Zoe, placed her in a small box in my car, and drove her back to Yankton. We became briefly acquainted, and I fed her a little, let her out, and gave her a nap. She looked so adorable, so innocent, lying still in the my fair-sized kennel cage. That evening we spent time together, as I worked on a few photographs of Rummy, and grieved. I named this female “Laura,” in honor of Doctor Zhivago’s beloved Laura. After three days of dealing with this pup, I held her face in my hands and said, “Honey, you are no Laura. You are Zoe, Life.” In time her official name became Amazoa, with a play on the mythic Amazon Women, famed for size, strength, and dominating powers.

Now is not the time, however, to recount our life together. I seek not only to remember, but to give thanks.

I am grateful for receiving this bundle of joy and energy into my home. I am grateful that slowly but persistently, Zoe lifted my heart out of intense grief at the tragic death of Rummy, just turned 4, from kidney failure. And I must give thanks that Zoe, with her alpha female temperament, bore with my emotional weakness and even consoled me. Yes, Zoe comforted me, but as I watched her, played with her, photographed her, she won my heart and mind, and became an important part of my life.

                                            Part II
Having written yesterday’s memo on being thankful for Zoe’s life (Part I), I immediately felt dissatisfied with it: I do not wish to sketch out our life together in a biographical flow, for that may do little or nothing for the reader, and it pulls me away from dealing with the present.

Zoe is dying of cancer. Although people who see her remark on how good she looks,they do not know her as I do, nor do they see her around the clock. Zoe’s spine now protrudes as she walks. Every hour, night and day, I must let her out to relieve herself. She drinks vast quantities of water, eats snow, but as of last evening, will not take any food.  (I hope that she will eat today, but not even a piece of roast beef has tempted her so far today.)

Yes, I want to be thankful for Zoe’s life and the time we have spent together. She has been such a physically strong and healthy dog (excepting only some arthritis in legs, now in her spine). We have had many hours together walking, “on the hunt” as I drive behind the dogs, photographing, visiting farms and ranches, chasing deer and rabbits. And we have had many hours together at home, with Zoe usually near me, keeping her eyes on me, perhaps waiting for another meal, or surely for a chance to play.

And Zoe has been an unsurpassably good foster-mother to Moses. Zoe was a mature two years old when I brought home a male pup, and named him Moses, and watched her play a motherly role. Never did they fight, although at times they could play hard, stretching a sock until it shredded. Moses always deferred to her dominant status, until sometime last summer, when he would charge the door to exist first from our car to go on “the hunt.” For such impudence, she has given him a few nips on the ear, but I have seen no blood, no damage. For such good motherly qualities in Zoe, I have long been thankful.

These reasons to be thankful should suffice for now, adding only one:  I am thankful to have loved Zoe with such intensity, such devotion. She has more than earned the best love I could offer. Even as she dies before my eyes, I believe the truth of Shakespeare’s famous words, “’Tis better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all.” For loving this dog so deeply, so tenderly, I give thanks to the God of all love. And as painful as it is to say so, I willingly suffer with her and for her as she dies. 

Updates - Jan. 19-20, 2014

January 20:
Good morning dear family,

Zoe is still here, but she refused food early. I shall offer food again when she awakens, and seeks me out.

I am still thinking of Tennyson's famous "Break, break, break," written as a mournful meditation after his dear friend died suddenly of an aneurism while he was visiting Germany. They were then each about 22 or so, and this poem was written some few years later, I believe.

Consider the last stanza, because the poem builds up to it:

   Break, break, break
       At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
   But the tender grace of a day that is dead
       Will never come back to me.

It seems to me that the poet expresses his feelings very well, but in thoughts that are a partial truth, partial non-truth. Yes, "the tender grace of a day that is dead" will not "come back to me" in the form in which it came originally. Each moment is a unique creation, never to be repeated. But we need to think a little more about the matter, to balance emotional truth with a fuller and more truthful account of reality.
First, in some ways, through remembering, the experiences of the past ("grace of a day") are not simply "dead," but partially live. As we remember, we make present again, to an extent, albeit imperfectly, and surely changed, as we change.  But that is okay. We can draw from the wonderful experiences of the past new insight, new inspiration, new love. The point here is not just to forget. True, Mr. Tennyson, what you experienced, and especially your friend as he was "will never come back" to you in the way he was present to you before. But that awareness should not close one off to other ways in which a friend and experiences may come back. And they do come back, if we are open to a fuller reality.

Compare, for example, that line from Shakespeare's Sonnets that remains my favorite line in that great collection, and one which I think about often. Writing to a presumably new friend, Shakespeare says, "Thou art the grave where buried love doth live."  Ah. Yes. In loving anew, in truly loving, all whom we have loved are in some way present to us, if we but have the hearts/minds to see. Not the same, not exactly the way it was, or the one whom we knew, but the best of one's love lives again, and takes new flight. And in loving anew, our loves of yesterday not only live again, but are "purified," or made more whole, more balanced.

I know well that every friend, every one we love, is unrepeatable, unique. And yet, in the act of love, of genuine love, we experience an openness to being, to reality, and we may indeed find, put poetically, that our "buried love" lives in the one we now love truly. I hope that you have had this life-affirming experience.

As I think back, after the wrenching death of Rummy in 2005, and my early encounters with young Zoe, I gradually came to see that in loving her, I was also loving Rummy, and I let her know that. I do not mean to moralize about this matter, but it does not honor our deceased loved one to close up our hearts to loving anew. On the contrary, we honor those we have loved best by venturing forth to love again. Yes, it will be different, and of course every being is unique. But Shakespeare saw the matter truly: one experiences one's loves of old coming to life again as one loves, here and now. Love immortalizes.

Or so it seems to me. And in a few days or weeks when my beloved Zoe has left this world, do not hesitate to remind me of what I have written, and challenge me to love Moses, and perhaps another soul in need, as I have loved Zoe, and let that love live again in a new and life-giving way.

******
20 January 2014  0500

Today looks as though it may be rougher. Zoe went out at midnight to empty her bladder, and whether or not she vomited then, I do not know, because of darkness. At 0200 she was outside again, with Moses. She rested a while, but by 0430 she was sitting in front of me, looking up at me, and raising her paw. What she wants or needs, I do not know for sure.

Shortly before 0500, we walked in the backyard for ten minutes, and she urinated, rolled on the ground, sniffed, barked at someone walking behind the rectory at the school, but I did not see her vomit, and I was watching. We came in, I offered each dog a little scrambled egg, but she turned around and withdrew to bed. By her bodily restlessness in the past hour, I would guess that she feels some abdominal discomfort, and that dissuades her from eating. Moses ate his portion greedily, as a healthy Lab would do.

I keep thinking of the song, “Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine…”  Living in the present is crucial, but one can take it too far, as this song does:  “Who cares what tomorrow will bring?”  Well, I care.  I would have sung, “Who knows what tomorrow will bring,” which is true; but care we must, for it is part of our human task to provide for ourselves and our loved ones a safe, healthy life, to the extent possible. And I care what tomorrow may bring, because my dear friend is living on the edge of death. I care very much that she live, live well, be happy. That is part of love. And so is my bearing with her as she undergoes physical wasting away. “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”

May our common Creator sustain us, and give me insight as to how to help Zoe as well as possible. May I recognize and attend to her basic needs, and bear with her patiently and gently. And as Zoe dies, may I do my priestly and domestic duties as well as possible, and not neglect either the parishioners nor Moses. When sorrow arises in my heart, may I remember gratitude, and the sufferings of others. For all of us go through this process of dying with our family, friends, and loved ones, again and again. May the Creator help me to treasure Life, this day and always. As my grand-mother said in her dying words, “Don’t ever forget; life is a beautiful thing.” Life is beautiful and good, although it surely includes sufferings and sometimes evils with which we must live and overcome to the best of our abilities. For those with ears, there remains the divine promise: “You shall live and have your life as a prize of war,” of struggle, says the prophet Jeremiah (ch 21).

*****
January 19, 7:00 p.m.

Today was a rallying day for Zoe. Last evening and yesterday morning I managed to give her some good nutrition, without stimulating vomiting. I pulverized chicken, and hand-fed it to her. Then this morning, our vet, Dr. Micki, came to Belt to attend Mass here, and administered an injection of a medication that blocks the trigger to vomit provoked by cancer. So today, Zoe has been fed. I deem it of considerable importance what I learned: that when a dog has cancer, do not feed carbohydrates, such as rice, but feed them protein and fat—including fish oil. So Zoe was given scrambled eggs today, and chicken, a couple cans of special diet for very ill dogs, a little pulled pork (without sauce), small pieces of cheese, fish oil mixed into her food. As of 7 this evening, the food has not been vomited up. That alone gives me considerable relief.  How long will it last? Dr. Micki gave me pills to get into Zoe every other day to block the vomiting action of cancer. Only with some good food, not being vomited back up, can Zoe live more than a few days.

And yet, I know that this remedy is temporary, and one could say that it “prolongs her dying.”  I see no reason to watch her starve to death, if medication is available to control the kind of gut-wrenching vomiting she has exhibited. Yes, Zoe is dying, but at least for today, she had some energy, ran a few tenths of a mile, walked a brief time with me, stayed close to my side this evening, and displays more of her characteristic life. 

Update: January 19, 2014

Zoe’s eating and activities have declined markedly since 14 January, just five days ago, when she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She is dying.

Rather than just give up, we shall do what we can to encourage eating and walking. Today she will receive an injection to help control vomiting, and I may try the use of a syringe to give her some nourishment in her mouth. How accepting she will be, I do not know, for she refuses most food.

Every human being,every one of us, must experience a number of dyings and deaths in our lives, before we, too, “go the way of all flesh.” Dying and death surely are substantial parts of our human, creaturely condition. Still, for each of us, probably nothing is as heart-wrenching, as soul-searching, as caring for someone we love as he or she dies and “passes away.”

As I wrote yesterday, a substantial part of loving someone is suffering with them and for them. To refuse to suffer with and for is to refuse to love, and to refuse to love is to refuse truly to live. A great test of our love, and its purification, comes as our dear one dies. And our love is tested and purified after the loved one’s death, as we either remember them fondly and with gratitude, entrusting them to the Creator, for example; or we let them slip from consciousness into oblivion, as if they are “dead and gone,” and no longer of any interest to us. In such a case, one’s “love” has more of the aspect of use and self-centeredness. To love one’s dear friend even after he or she dies, and to do so with gratitude despite grief, is an act of love that grows closer to God’s love for each and for all, for such genuine love is not based on self-interest, but on grateful self-giving. I often recall the poignant words of Job when he lost his children, his health, and his property: “The Lord has given, the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” So speaks love. Words such as these, when genuine, are not said easily, lightly, or mindlessly; rather, they arise out of an offering of oneself and of all one loves to the divine or to “ultimate reality,” as one understands it.

As Zoe is dying before my eyes, I am aware of the commonness of death, and that virtually every one I know has gone through similar experiences. In the midst of one’s own sorrows, it is good and noble, and beneficial, to remember that each of one’s brothers and sisters, one’s fellow creatures, has undergone the same or similar experience. And it is good to be aware that what our dear one is enduring now, will be our own lot in the not-so-distant future. In the wisdom of St. Benedict, “Keep death daily before your eyes.” Why? Because in a sober awareness of death, one’s love is purified, and one must choose to affirm the goodness and beauty of life,despite its costs and agonies. And so we rise out of our narrow selves, out of our “own little world,” and enter the broader truth and reality in which all share. We become aware of, and affirm, our share in reality as a whole, not as we wish it to be, but as it is.

Words out of memory drift into consciousness, some from songs, some from spiritual readings or other sources: “I have loved you with an everlasting love…”  My dear Zoe, my beloved little girl, I love you more than words can express. In this love, I want your happiness and joy and peace now and forever. In this love, my beloved Zoe, I gratefully yet so painfully surrender you back to the One from whom all beings come forth, and in whom alone one truly lives.

Thanks be to God, to the One who simply is, for allowing me to love and—to a limited extent—to know this wonderful, life-filled creature for a few years. Together here, dear soul, for eight years, with quiet joys and painful sorrows,and many changes and challenges neither of us planned. To me, Zoe, you have been a faithful and ever-fresh companion, a source of much laughter and at times a real test of my character and patience. You have borne with me, and I with you, despite our flaws and weaknesses. You have been an unforgettable companion on my life’s journey. For your fidelity and love, I thank you, and I thank the all-wise Mind, divine providence, that brought us together. No doubt I needed you as you are, and you needed me, and each of us blessed and benefitted the other. This love, engendered by our common sharing in the Creator, will never end, but our love is and will change. My desire is to love you more truly, more for your own sake, ever more gratefully. Peace be with you, dear soul.

Zoe Update, Jan. 18, 2014

Dear Family and Friends, For your loving support and kind and encouraging words, I thank you all. Although I would like to respond to each email, call, or note individually, so many have been coming that I will write a circular memo, and post it as a blog on our website. On the day that cancer was diagnosed, the vet said that Zoe could live a couple of weeks to two months, but yesterday she noted that such is merely approximate. There were times yesterday, as we walked perhaps our favorite place for walks—Black Eagle Memorial Island in the Missouri River—that I wondered if Zoe could live longer than two months. But then came a walk late in the afternoon in Castner Park in Belt. Without giving disturbing details, suffice it to note that her stool and vomit showed a great deal of serious illness in her. Although Zoe drinks water, she is not eating, or rarely and very sparingly. What she eats, gets regurgitated. Given her failing condition, death could come very soon. Whether or not she is in pain, I do not know. Her abdomen is swollen. Given evidence, I think that cancer has strongly invaded her digestive tract. For the first time in Zoe’s life, I feel her shoulder bones and spine right beneath her beautiful black coat. This energetic, strong, massive Labrador is withering away. There is an issue about the dying of one’s dog (or cat) that needs to be addressed. As someone said to me recently, “She is only a dog, not a human being.” And that is true. Zoe is “only a dog.” But we are only human beings, and not dogs, and surely not gods. The larger issue here is one which needs to be understood: The nature of one’s love is not determined so much by who or what one loves, but by the one loving. A good human being loves another because it is good to do. As Thomas Aquinas did not tire of writing, “God loves us, not because we are good, but because He is.” Divine love is not thwarted by a lack of response in the ones He loves. My love for Zoe is not just “for a dog;” my love for her is an outflow and an expression of my love of God, of beauty, of goodness. Zoe is a creature of God, and in loving her, I am loving the Creator, or goodness itself. By faith, I see all of reality manifesting the Creator. In short, love is in the lover, not necessarily in the beloved. Hence, when you love, you love, despite the weaknesses or flaws in the one you love. My love for Zoe is more alive, more intense, more genuine, than my love for many human beings. Why?  Because I have long chosen to love her as well as I possibly can. That she is a dog, or my dog, is not essential to this choice. Love is its own reason and cause. As we all know, when you love another, you suffer with and for the one you love. That is an essential part of love: to suffer with and for. One can wish that it were not so, but it is, given our creaturely, vulnerable existence. Truly to love another is to accept their sufferings as one’s own, to bear with them, to undergo what they undergo, to the extent possible. That choice does not depend on one’s species or character, but on love itself. We are all experiencing, in one degree or another, what I am now going through with Zoe, because all of us are vulnerable creatures in various stages of dying. That may sound blunt, but it is true. When someone we love is near death, the whole process is condensed, and especially poignant. In choosing to love another—human or animal—we are accepting the process of sharing in their living, and in their dying. To refuse not to suffer with and for another, including in their “passing away,” is to refuse to love. Being willing to experience their dying with them is an essential part of love, a price of love, if you will. And remembering them kindly and lovingly, after they die, is a necessary part of love. To choose to forget, to “move on,” to let love die because the beloved died, is a betrayal of love. Genuine love is forever, or it is not genuine. Love transcends death, and “love is stronger than death.” To love another is already to share in the process of passing over from life in this world, limited and fleeting, to life itself, to that which some of us call “God.”  To love is to share in God’s love for the creature, and it is to share in God’s process of immortalizing his creatures. To love is truly to live: to live in Life that knows no death. Zoe means Life. It is the Greek word for true life, divine Life in us, and not mere passing, biological life (bios). When I named my dog, “Zoe,” I did so to honor the One who is Life. Why? Because I experienced divine Life in her. My beloved Zoe is dying here, and will have life only in and because God is Life. In the words of Christ to us creatures, “Because I live, you will live also.”  That is an ultimate divine promise meant for each and for all; it is true because Truth speaks it. In deathless Life I place my trust, even as I see one I love so dearly being overcome by death here. That is the choice of faith and hope, and above all, the choice of love: “to love with a love that is more than love.”  To love truly is to share in the Life of God, whether we know it or not, “believe in God” or not. Some have “faith” without love. The true friend of God, known or unknown to that man or woman, is the one who chooses to love truly, even unto death. For “God is love, and he who loves lives in God, and God in him.”

Feelings Adjusting to Reality

Zoe alert for deer Dear Family and Friends, Zoe is sleeping in. Nights are difficult, as I must keep rising to let her out. Last night I spent much of the time sitting up on the sofa, as on an airplane. Did not work, as she retired to the bed, and had an accident in her sleep. At midnight I changed sheets and threw out soiled pads. Thank you for your loving support and tenderness. You all understand well the nature of love and what one goes through as a beloved one dies. None of us is a stranger to such heart-wrenching events. In retrospect, Daddy’s death was made easier for us because we had a month with him at home, and he talked to us. Mama’s death came more suddenly with the little strokes, but she, too, ended well, given the circumstances. Rummy’s death was excruciating for me. Zoe’s is painful for obvious reasons. The acute shock and fear I felt on Tuesday has lessened, but residues abide. It does us—or at least me—much good to spend time walking the dogs outside now. The 3-mile run was probably too much for Zoe in this condition, but she wanted to do it—and then walk with us for 50 minutes in cool (30 F) and bright sun. We had a delightful time on the walk. Zoe gave me a scare when she walked on a snow bank overhanging a cliff, and proceeded to drop down to roll around. I called her back immediately, and she came; she could easily have rolled off and dropped down a 30-50 foot precipice. She has ever been one to press limits—perhaps not hers, but mine. She remains more adventuresome than Moses, but that will no doubt end soon, as she weakens. For example, when running yesterday, she took off on a long detour to cross fields in order to investigate some smells—perhaps dead animals, or droppings, or whatever, but that is Zoe. Her fierce independence would not be tolerated by some dog owners, but I have loved that trait in her, even as it has taxed my patience a few times. As you know, Moses is more readily obedient, although when meeting another dog (especially a female), he may not respond to my call immediately. I keep wondering how Moses and I will adjust to one another after Zoe dies. We have had little time one-on-one, whereas I had 2 years with Zoe before bringing Moses home. He respects me, and shows some fear of me, I would say—something that Zoe has never displayed. Even when she knew that a little spanking was coming, she would boldly walk up to me and “take it like a man,” so to speak. Out of her strong self-confidence, she is as fearless and yet non-aggressive as any creature I have known. Moses has some fears, and has at times “hidden behind his mother’s skirts,” to use that phrase some boys sprung on us on the shore at Beach Haven.  One parishioner who has spent time with us has repeatedly said that I favor Zoe, and no doubt it looks that way: she has always required much more attention, being more full of life and pushing the limits of everything possible. But I love Moses, too, and that bond will no doubt strengthen as we spend time one-on-one. He will ride in the rider’s seat as I drive, not in the back where I keep the two of them, because Moses would not think of entering my space as I drive, something Zoe had to learn slowly over years. If needed, I will let him stay in the sacristy during services, or even near me at the altar.  Other priests are known to do that with well-behaved dogs. In Zoe’s case, she would no doubt be nosing every purse or pocket for food—in her former days, that is. Enough for now. After the early Mass, we will walk in the park here in Belt, and just perhaps drive to Great Falls for a few items I need. There we can walk in the Expo Park, a favorite place for both dogs. Or if the Missouri is free of ice, I may take the dogs to Black Eagle Memorial Island, a place both of them have truly enjoyed over the years. I want to give Zoe the chance to enjoy again some of her favorite places, and for me to enjoy them with her, with Moses. as The day is probably swiftly coming when such walks will be impossible. So, “today, while the blossom still clings to the vine..”

A note on my dog, Zoe

Scoping out a deer Dear Family and Friends,  Yesterday, my vet and a vet-internist, using ultrasound on Zoe, found that her kidneys presently are in excellent shape. Her health problems are arising from cancer. If I understood what my vet told me, Zoe has numerous small tumors in her abdomen, between skin and organs. She took a chest x-ray to see if the chest is clear, but she thinks that several tumors were there as well. If tumors were isolated to the abdomen, chemo therapy could be attempted, but the condition is more widely spread. The prognosis is death within a few weeks to two months, as cancer invades all of her vital organs. Zoe is on no medication, no pain killers. Rather, the vet told me to feed her and exercise her as she wants and can handle. When she can no longer engage in her activities, my vet is willing to euthanize her. What course of action we will take, I do not yet know.  That Zoe is very seriously ill occurred to me on Sunday, 5 January, when she was weak, lethargic, and confused. The symptoms looked to me like what happened to my Lab, Rummy, at age 4, when he was dying of “acute chronic kidney failure.” Zoe’s blood work was normal, which was surprising. The problem showed up through urinalysis, with the presence of proteins in her urine. These proteins, generated by the carcinomas, are causing vomiting, lose stool, much thirst, frequent urination, and so far that one incident of mental confusion that so alerted me. The vomiting began around Thanksgiving, and I thought that it was connected with what Moses and I went through with food poisoning.    If Zoe has two weeks to two months to live, I will look after her as well as I can, and do with her the activities she loves: walking in the park, running on Sweeney’s farm, chasing rabbits at Windy Nob, hunting for birds and deer on Sweeneyland, eating her favorite foods (meat, pasta, veggies with cheese).  No doubt being with Moses and me is a source of joy in her life. Even on the way back from the vet yesterday, as the dogs were on the back seat of George Wood’s pick-up, Zoe, who had no food to eat all day, gave her attention to cleaning Moses’ ears and licking a wound on his back. She is ever the mother.  Zoe was born on 26 October 2005. I brought her home from Lone Willow Kennel on a farm in South Dakota on 21 December 2005, the day after Rummy died of kidney failure and seizures.  I named her “Laura” in honor of Doctor Zhivago’s beloved Laura, but after three days, given her character, I changed her name to Zoe, from the Greek word for Life in the sense of vital life, true life, as distinct from bios, meaning biological life.  When I registered her with the American Kennel Club, I had to give her a unique name, so I chose Amazoa, a combination of Latin and Greek, “she loves Life,” and a play on the Amazon women of Greek legend: the large, powerful, dominant tribute of women encountered by Jason and the Argonauts. Zoe was always large and powerful for her age, heavily muscled, and as the first born of 10 pups, she has ever been Alpha female. When I chose her, I watched her play with her two chocolate-Lab brothers, and utterly dominate them in playing with a ball. Zoe’s father was a black Lab, her mother a chocolate. In sunlight, to this day, a tinge of chocolate shows up in a suitable under coloring especially on her head and haunches.     As I have told a number of folks, Zoe has the healthiest ego of anyone I have known. Mature, confident, self-controlled, she has been calm, steady, and unflappable. When meeting folks for the first time, she seems “hyper” because she is so friendly and dominant, but that impression was superficial and utterly misleading. Zoe is steady, knows her mind, and knows how to achieve her desires. I have never seen the least sign of aggression in her. When a larger female dog bit her in the neck when running, Zoe barely glanced at her and just kept on her running task. She knows what she wants, and she has known well how to get me to give her what she wants. To Moses she has been a devoted and tender mother, but also the dominant one. These two dogs have never fought or bitten in aggression. Their roughest play has come from tugs of war. Zoe’s joy has been in the hunt, which I call “running.” She flushes out game birds, chases rabbits, but her real thrill has been chasing deer. (Early on she learned that antelope outclassed her.)  I have a photo of her running in a herd of deer she came upon and chased.    That is enough for now. We will seek to make our last days together good and happy, despite the coming end. “Today while the blossom still clings to the vine…”  Yes, I feel much sorrow, and still some mild shock, but we will press on together as a family, a pack. While taking care of Zoe and enjoying her gift of Life, I will keep my eye on Moses, and begin our transition into life one-on-one, which will be a big change for both of us. Out of respect and concern for Moses, I do not intend to get a second dog; Zoe could handle such a change, but Moses would feel left out and would be jealous, something not in Zoe’s nature. As anyone who knows them can see, these two Labs, much like mother and son, are utterly different. You can guess which one is more immediately obedient and easier to handle. But Zoe is the one who lets me know what she wants, and Moses expects Zoe to tell me his needs, or for me to figure him out. He lacks her communication skills, and I will see if they improve when he has no parent or sibling for the first time in his life.  Thank you for your expressions of love, concern, sympathy. They are much appreciated.  “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven….”

The Baptism of Christ and Our Ministry

To date I have not read many pages of church documents written by newly elected Pope Francis, nor have I studied closely interviews with him, nor examined his actions closely. And note that I am inviting all of us to make some study of Pope Francis’ teaching this year. So far, I have read enough to realize that Pope Francis has much to teach us, and that if we take his words and actions seriously, each of us will be challenged in various ways, and probably no one of us would be left feeling complacently content with our own Catholic faith and practice. Even in my relative ignorance of our new Pope, I will suggest a few thoughts that may be in line with his approach to the gospel on the Feast of the Baptism of Jesus. I think that in the spirit of Pope Francis, on this feast each of us should ask ourselves a few questions. We can ask, “Given that I was baptized into Christ, and therefore have a share in Christ Jesus and in his ministry, what am I doing about it?  How do I live out my calling as a servant of God? How do I seek to serve God’s people? In what ways do I carry the gospel of joy into the world? Am I willing to leave my own comfortable beliefs and ways of living and venture forward, bringing Christ to the disadvantaged, and finding Christ in them, and serving Christ in them? Moreover, for years I have emphasized on this feast that Jesus accepted the baptism of John, which was repentance from dead sins. But Jesus was without sin, so why did he let John baptize him? I see in Jesus the same mentality that shows up throughout his brief ministry, and especially on the cross: Jesus willingly identifying with us sinners, and ultimately taking our place. Now, what might Pope Francis say to us in light of Jesus’ solidarity with sinners? Perhaps he would ask us a few more questions: “How do you identify with sinners, with the disadvantaged, the marginalized, with those whom our society ignores, overlooks, or would discard? How do you extend the grace of God in Christ to those who may appear graceless, or even to those who have wronged you, or do not wish you well? What do you do in your life to live out Christ’s solidarity with sinners? Do you yourself dabble in sin, rather than gently and lovingly help draw others away from it?” You see, Pope Francis says that he wants to dialogue with us, in order to further dialogue in the Church. How does one dialogue without asking questions and listening for answers? We conclude with words from Pope Francis in his recent exhortation on “The Gospel of Joy”:  “The great danger in today’s world, pervaded as it is by consumerism, is the desolation and anguish born of a complacent yet covetous heart, the feverish pursuit of frivolous pleasures, and a blunted conscience.”  What do we do about this condition?