Impossible things...

I wrote my husband's obituary yesterday. It felt like an impossible thing to do, like something I should never have to even contemplate.

A week ago, we discussed our plans for the day and opted for a very quiet Sunday. I spent the morning in the living room watching puppy training videos. He drank coffee by the fire, made himself an omelet, and listened to music.  

We had a family dinner with our daughters' crew planned for 6 PM, roast lamb, summer squash, and zucchini sauteed with onion, garlic, and cherry tomatoes. I thought I'd bake some focaccia for a treat. Chris loved family supper nights and was happily looking forward to the meal, conversation, and time with the grandgirls. After our peaceful morning, we took a nap. My man loved a Sunday nap. There was pillow talk and snuggles, and at one point, he said, "I cherish our time alone together." I did, too. We were the best of companions, our time peaceful and tender. 

Later, while I began to cook, he started the blower to move the inch or two of wet snow that had been slowly falling for hours. He came in after a little while to warm up. "My asthma's bothering me," he said, and used his inhaler. Then he fiddled on his phone for a few minutes and said, "I just ordered pirate hats for the girls. They'll be here on Wednesday. I can't wait to play with them. You know what kind of vehicle a pirate drives, right?" I rolled my eyes and shook my head, "Tell me." He grinned and said, "a cARRRR!" 

He leaned against the counter, watching me knead the dough for the bread, "Look at you," he said. "You are a marvelous cook, you are beautiful, you create a wonderful home, and you make me the happiest man alive." 

Then he went back out to finish up the snow removal. Within moments, he had a fatal heart attack. A kind passerby saw him lying there and thought perhaps he had slipped. He came to the door to get me. We both performed CPR while we waited for the ambulance, but my love was gone. In one awful instant, every single thing about my wonderful life changed. 

Two days later, a strange man appeared at the door. "Are you the woman who just lost her husband?" he asked. He handed me some donuts along with that new title. They both felt heavy. 

 

Fate...

 When we found out that Bravo was going to be leaving us far sooner than we hoped, I was forced to think about a future without him. He is more than a pet; he actively helps with the livestock. We also depend on him to alert us to people arriving, chase foxes from the pasture, and so much more. The thought of having no farm dog around was very hard to imagine.

I began to think about what dog should come here next. I thought about a variety of breeds. There are several on my life list, but really, Bravo has been such an incredible addition to the family, I felt driven to try to find a dog as similar to him as possible. One nice thing about having a purebred dog is that they tend to share important characteristics. Since Bravo's intelligence and personality suited our life so very well, I decided another English Shepherd was the best fit. 

I reached out to people on an English Shepherd social media page I belong to, and many kind folks shared suggestions for breeders. Suddenly, I had pictures of sires and dams, information about temperaments and accomplishments, and planned litters. It was all rather confusing and a bit exciting. The thought of new life and love is always joyful and hopeful. When facing the loss of a beloved pet, joy and hope are welcome things! 

Yesterday I was contacted by a woman I have known of since I began looking for Bravo eleven years ago. She is a well-known and highly respected advocate for the breed. She messaged to express sympathy about Bravo's diagnosis and to say she had some puppies available. She lives far from us, but has two puppies heading to New England on a transport later this month. 

I wanted a female puppy this time, and she had three available. One is a sable, a color I particularly admire. She said the sable puppy is very sweet, deferential to the big dogs, and she thinks her personality will be a good fit with our family and farm. Her dogs are farm-bred and raised for their ability to work stock and be marvelous companions. The parents have all of the appropriate genetic testing done, and the pups have been raised in the home and well socialized. 

I had not planned to bring a puppy home quite yet. I imagined a long hunt before I found "the" one. But all the pieces fell into place, and this baby will be coming to FairWinds just in time for my birthday. 

Every step of the way felt like fate. Chris and I have been discussing potential names. I think we have settled on "Fae." Thebump.com says, "Fae is an enchanting, short name of Old English and French origin meaning "fairy" "fate" or "faith". As a gender-neutral or feminine name, it evokes magical, ethereal, and nature-inspired imagery. Popular variations include Faye, Fay, Fée, and Faelyn. It is often used to symbolize mystical charm, loyalty, or a connection to nature." 

Every dog I have had the privilege to love has taught me lessons. Too many, too much for me to articulate.  Right now, Bravo is teaching me how to let go gracefully. How to live in the moment. How to not wait to celebrate being together. What will Fae have to teach to me? I can hardly wait.