Patience

Patience is not my strong suit, never has been. I'm working on it, and perhaps I'm making progress, but damn it – not fast enough! So, it's no surprise that in less than a week since my great dog-friend passed away, I begin to niggle with discomfort at my unfinished grief.

In fact, I suspect the grieving hasn't really started yet. I remember when our old dog Molly died three years ago. At fifteen, she had lived a glorious long life. As with Nicholai, we thought her time would be up long before it was. She died one cold December day, suddenly – if you can say a fifteen year old dog dies suddenly – and I spent the next week crying my eyes out at the loss.

With Nicholai's death, I am surprised at the lack of tears. Instead I feel mostly a disconcerting hardness, a stone inside where the fountain should begin. I don't know what to make of it.

I think I'm angry, furious even. Cancer finally stole my pack-brother from me and I'm pissed; pissed that he ever had to get it in the first place, pissed that so damned many dogs – and people – contract cancer these days. Did I mention cancer is the leading cause of death for all dogs over the age of two? For half of all dogs ten and over? That breast cancer, prostate cancer, testicular cancer, colon cancer, brain cancer – are skyrocketing? I'm mad, mad, MAD, about this (in case you hadn't noticed).

In the end, it's just that no matter what I did, I couldn't save my good boy from an untimely end. Yes, I worked hard and gave him the best possible life. As dogs go, he was pretty damn lucky all around. But I can picture a better world.

One with clean air and soil. One where grass everywhere is safe for dogs to step on without fear of chemical contamination. A world with clean rivers – imagine that. A Willamette River safe to swim in with a canine friend, to dip a cup in and take a sip. A world where food is always full of life and never tells lies.

In that world, I'd still have to lose Nicholai one day. But not today, not so soon.

Molly lived her whole life and when she died, nothing was left but the crying. Part of Nicholai's life was stolen and now I'm stuck in Kubler-Ross's second stage of grief – anger. Knowing doesn't help dissolve the cold stone in my gut. And so, it's back to patience.

This too shall pass.