All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small
I don't usually do this-- repost something I've written elsewhere for a different audience-- but my grief encourages me to do so. I wrote this for the June issue of our parish newsletter magazine. Of all the things I written over more than a decade of ordained ministry, this one little story has caused the greatest outpouring of response. If you want to see the entire issue, along with a photo of Chelsea, click here.
Our beloved dog Chelsea is nearing death. He’s nearly 18 years old and for a breed with an average lifespan of only 12 years he’s not just an old man, he’s ancient. Willard Scott should honor him on morning television for having survived this long. As with all things you love so very deeply, it is both a joy and heartbreak to watch him age and struggle with a body that no longer works the way it once did.
Chelsea has been with us since our beginning. He was my gift to Allen our first Christmas together. He’s what helped us to realize that we were forming a family for one another, all three of us. He’s been with us through it all, every step of the way we have made as a family. We lived in Michigan while I prepared for divinity school. I worked for the district and circuit courts of Washtenaw County. The animal control officer in Chelsea, Michigan alerted me to this beautiful Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier that had been brought in by his previous owners—hence his name “Chelsea.” One look and we were smitten. We never knew why his previous owners let go of him. He came to us in the first year of his life, knew voice and hand commands, and has been a complete treasure.
Wheatens are fully of energy—intense energy—and must have vigorous exercise lest they become destructive. I remember taking Chelsea to a cemetery not far from our home in Jackson. Thank God the place was fenced. He ran around the perimeter as fast as he could then began dodging the tall headstones, weaving back and forth. Finally, he started jumping the headstones all the while maintaining a speed which turned him to a blur of white fluff sailing through the air.
I remember taking him with us to the tennis courts while Allen and I played a game or two—he loved chasing the balls for us. One afternoon the confinement of the courts was just too much. He found his way out, took off at top speed, jumped into the air and landed perfectly in a baby carriage that was being strolled in the park. The mother shrieked while we made our way to the scene of the crime. (Short ending: all was well.)
He was with us during divinity school, adjusting to urban life and the intensity that graduate school can bring to a family. He was with us when Allen moved to Nashville to begin his professional design career and I moved to Arkansas to care for my parents. He bounced back and forth between us until I realized that my father had, perhaps, a deeper bond with him than did either of us. As my mother died, Chelsea was always near Daddy, never letting him alone for too long. Daddy got into the habit of taking Chelsea with him each morning to either McDonald’s (where Chelsea got his own Egg McMuffin) or to the donut shop (where he got his honey glazed donut) as well as the attention of the older crowd that gathered there each morning. Daddy loved him so much that Chelsea developed an inflamed pancreas from all the loved-filled but really-bad-for-dogs food.
I don't usually do this-- repost something I've written elsewhere for a different audience-- but my grief encourages me to do so. I wrote this for the June issue of our parish newsletter magazine. Of all the things I written over more than a decade of ordained ministry, this one little story has caused the greatest outpouring of response. If you want to see the entire issue, along with a photo of Chelsea, click here.
Our beloved dog Chelsea is nearing death. He’s nearly 18 years old and for a breed with an average lifespan of only 12 years he’s not just an old man, he’s ancient. Willard Scott should honor him on morning television for having survived this long. As with all things you love so very deeply, it is both a joy and heartbreak to watch him age and struggle with a body that no longer works the way it once did. Chelsea has been with us since our beginning. He was my gift to Allen our first Christmas together. He’s what helped us to realize that we were forming a family for one another, all three of us. He’s been with us through it all, every step of the way we have made as a family. We lived in Michigan while I prepared for divinity school. I worked for the district and circuit courts of Washtenaw County. The animal control officer in Chelsea, Michigan alerted me to this beautiful Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier that had been brought in by his previous owners—hence his name “Chelsea.” One look and we were smitten. We never knew why his previous owners let go of him. He came to us in the first year of his life, knew voice and hand commands, and has been a complete treasure.
Wheatens are fully of energy—intense energy—and must have vigorous exercise lest they become destructive. I remember taking Chelsea to a cemetery not far from our home in Jackson. Thank God the place was fenced. He ran around the perimeter as fast as he could then began dodging the tall headstones, weaving back and forth. Finally, he started jumping the headstones all the while maintaining a speed which turned him to a blur of white fluff sailing through the air.
I remember taking him with us to the tennis courts while Allen and I played a game or two—he loved chasing the balls for us. One afternoon the confinement of the courts was just too much. He found his way out, took off at top speed, jumped into the air and landed perfectly in a baby carriage that was being strolled in the park. The mother shrieked while we made our way to the scene of the crime. (Short ending: all was well.)
He was with us during divinity school, adjusting to urban life and the intensity that graduate school can bring to a family. He was with us when Allen moved to Nashville to begin his professional design career and I moved to Arkansas to care for my parents. He bounced back and forth between us until I realized that my father had, perhaps, a deeper bond with him than did either of us. As my mother died, Chelsea was always near Daddy, never letting him alone for too long. Daddy got into the habit of taking Chelsea with him each morning to either McDonald’s (where Chelsea got his own Egg McMuffin) or to the donut shop (where he got his honey glazed donut) as well as the attention of the older crowd that gathered there each morning. Daddy loved him so much that Chelsea developed an inflamed pancreas from all the loved-filled but really-bad-for-dogs food.
They were inseparable. The pang I felt inside of me each time I watched my beloved Chelsea enjoy being with my father rather than me was more than overcome as I witnessed this small unassuming creature ministering to my father in ways that he would not allow others to do. The night my father died, Chelsea went to my father’s favorite chair in the den of my childhood home, stood in the seat and howled. It is a moment indelibly marked in my soul.
Now Chelsea’s time for new life is approaching. We tease him telling him it’s time to “chase the bunnies into the light.” And it really is time, but his body is not quite ready to go there, but it will come. I know it will come. And when it does, we will be heartbroken. Each time I bathe his now tired and thin body, I wonder if it will be the last time I get to cradle him in my arms while he reaches up to lick my face. Such is the life we have shared.
My greatest consolation is knowing that whatever lay on the other side of this life for Chelsea, I know my father will be waiting there for him. I pray that we have served Chelsea in our life together as well as my father served me in his.
pax [+]
Now Chelsea’s time for new life is approaching. We tease him telling him it’s time to “chase the bunnies into the light.” And it really is time, but his body is not quite ready to go there, but it will come. I know it will come. And when it does, we will be heartbroken. Each time I bathe his now tired and thin body, I wonder if it will be the last time I get to cradle him in my arms while he reaches up to lick my face. Such is the life we have shared.
My greatest consolation is knowing that whatever lay on the other side of this life for Chelsea, I know my father will be waiting there for him. I pray that we have served Chelsea in our life together as well as my father served me in his.
pax [+]
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