I started writing Dead Dog Walking in January, after Nicholai reached one full year of living with lymphoma. No one thought he could make it that far, one year was considered possible to hope for with a full course of chemotherapy and radiation. For a senior dog to reach a year's survival with nothing but good food, herbs, acupuncture, and some vitamins was wild and crazy – and very, very good. I wanted to share the story of his great fortune not to suffer from either his disease or his treatment for an entire blessed year. I thought I'd be writing for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months at most. That we garnered over seven more months including daily walks in the woods, trips to Montana with hikes in the mountains, a fabulous appetite up to the last day (he ate a great dinner on Tuesday); that we will remember him as our protector and hiking buddy and not as a sick old dog, is nothing short of amazing.
So, what to do now? My passion to change the landscape of our lives leaving us all vulnerable to the ravages of cancer is unabated. Cancer is now the leading cause of death in all American dogs over the age of two. That's insane, but it is the natural consequence of pouring carcinogenic chemicals into our air, water, soil, and food. Even with Nicholai gone and my heart in pieces, I no more believe solutions to cancer will come from pouring more chemicals into sick individuals than I believe in Easter Bunny (actually, there's hope for Easter Bunny.) The pharmaceutical response has been failing for decades. It's time to wake up.
Will I continue to blog? I don't know. For now, I intend to post memories of Mr. Nickel Pickle as a way to tape my heart back together, though it feels a little self-indulgent. Blogs by nature are somewhat self-indulgent, and yet they allow us to keep in touch with one another and to share stories of real life.
Missing my "Bubba" feels like a stone under my solar plexus; I don't cry much, just feel heavy and cold. Losing a family member – even a canine one – changes everything. I'm in the process of grief and of reconfiguring what life means now, in its new shape.
Do what you must to heal, but I am one who would certainly love reading your memories of "Mr. Pickle". Those stories will not seem self-indulgent at all to other dog lovers, at the least. I hope you will continue writing about your dogs and about cancer. You've made your kids, your dogs, some of your passions, and Joan's story a part of our lives now. You're a very good writer; you tell a good story, tug our heartstrings, and make us, your readers, think. None of this is self-indulgent. Wishing you healing -- Aspen
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