No Good Reason to Git Outta Bed

Mina died three months ago today.

I’ve sat and stared at that sentence for some time now, trying to figure out how to express the passage of that time. It feels like forever, yet it feels like yesterday. I still imagine myself wrapping my arms around her neck and kissing her face, laying next to her on the floor and rubbing her tummy, and feeling her warm tongue licking the tip of my nose. Those imaginings and memories bring tears to my eyes because it hurts so much to be here alone without my Bean.

Everyone knows by now that the National Capital Area is in snowstorm hell. We’ve had three major snowstorms since December 18, and the fourth is coming along right now. I haven’t gone to work in my office since last Thursday, and it could be Friday or Tuesday before I’m able to drive in again. All of this has created a mountain of anxiety on top of my grief over losing Mina and a feeling isolation from the active world. We’re just here, getting by, hoping the power stays one, praying this next storm just grazes us …

All of this could be alleviated for me if Mina were still here with me. I have no joy during winter, I hate being cold (any temperature below 75F is officially cold), but Mina loved it so much that I could tolerate it. I miss the way she gently guided me over icy patches on our walks, stopping and looking up to make sure I was OK; I miss her snow-covered nose and using my bare hands to melt the snow off her paws.

Mina was my reason for getting out of bed on weekends, on bad weather days, when I was sick, when I hadn’t slept well. Her need to be outside, her joy in sniffing absolutely everything, the happy way she greeted the humans and canines she loved was enough to make it all worthwhile.

Mina's happy face, 1997

Now when faced with weekends, holiday weekends, snow days, and just about every Monday since Mina died, I find little reason to get outta bed. I do it because I need to earn a living and, honestly, I like my job; but it’s not easy to find motivation to live a life that’s little more than a shell of what it once was, to find any joy in getting through another day.

What I really want to do today, instead of working from home by myself and waiting for the next foot of fucking snow to fall, is to walk with Mina in a green, sunlit park and watch her long tail curled high and swaying with her bouncy steps. I want to see her face turn towards me and I want to lean down and kiss her nose and tell her what a very good girl she is as we bounce along together.

Mina offleash in a small park, 2005

I think eternity will be filled with Mina and I taking walks together.

s.

 

Dear Mina #6

Hey girlie girl,

It’s snowing – again! By now you’d have a very furry coat and be ready for romping in the snow outside. I’d grumble and bundle up and put on my boots and take you outside to get your fix. We’d walk around and stop into the leasing office to see our friends.

So, yesterday an old friend of yours dropped in for a visit. You remember Asia when she worked in the leasing office? She was in town to see her parents and stopped into the leasing office while I was there. I had to tell her you were gone, and that was hard. Asia said it was weird to see me without you. I sure don’t feel right without you by my side; never went into the leasing office without you.

I was there after work and helped out with laminating some fliers for snow instructions for residents, then went to happy hour with our friends, including your Auntie Lolo. It was fun but when I got home hours later it was the same feeling that I have whenever I don’t rush right home – guilt. Yet, I think you’d approve of me going out and about, right? I just have to get used to the idea of living outside our life together. It’s really hard.

But today I miss you because of the snow. Winter was your time and you loved nothing more than pushing through the snow with your pretty black nose. No matter how old you were, a good snowfall turned you into a puppy – at least for a little while.

Mina in the snow, Denver, 1999

She was such a little baby in December, 1999 (Denver)

I’ll think about you a lot this weekend if the snow is as deep as predicted and I’m trapped here. I hope to be able to help out with shoveling and stuff and I have some work to get done.

I miss you, my pretty pretty girl. It’s very lonely where I am. I hope with all my heart you’re so happy and so healthy that you don’t notice my tears.

Mina's snow face, 2006

 

Dear Mina #5

Good morning, Mina Mina. I still come out to the living room every morning to greet you, only now instead of rubbing your tummy and nuzzling your neck I have to kiss the cool wood of the urn where your ashes are stored. But I remember the feel of your warm body as I cuddled against you and the sleepy look in your eyes. Sometimes when you were very very sleepy a little bit of your pink tongue would stick out from between your lips. I always thought that was the cutest thing!

When you were much younger I didn’t have to wake you up, it was always the opposite. You knew the exact moment I was awake, even if the alarm hadn’t sounded. I’d have to try to be very still as you perched over me looking for signs of life … As soon as you caught my breathing change, you’d start licking my nose and pouncing on the bed. I loved playing that game with you and watching you dance by the door as I threw on some seasonally-appropriate clothes for our morning walk.

Those walks were lively! Depending on where we lived and how much time we had in the morning before I left for work, we’d spend up to a half an hour walking. I remember one morning when we lived in Littleton, Colorado and it was 5F and I had on a million layers of clothing but you weren’t even bothered by the arctic conditions. We walked in Clement Park, as we did every morning, covering as much ground as possible, always ending up at the baseball field by the concession stand to sniff around for any scraps. You’d found part of a hot dog bun the previous summer and never forgot the experience.

Later on when we moved here to Masons Keepe you discovered the grill over by the leasing office. I think you snagged a stray piece of carcass that spring and, as before, never forgot about it. Every single time we passed that grill, right up until the last Sunday we had together, you stopped to sniff the area.

We didn’t cover as much ground during our walks after the arthritis settled into your right carpus. You gave it hell, though, for nearly two years until last February when it degraded to the point where you needed the carpal brace. Your brace is still on the kitchen counter where it always was after I took it off your leg after our walks. You hated that brace, I know, but it helped you walk and get up the stairs. Everyone got so used to seeing you with it on that on the rare occasions I let you walk without it we were questioned by everyone we met. We could always tell the new people in the community because they’d ask if you’d broken your leg or had some other injury.

I miss our walks together. I miss them so much that I’m thinking of restoring them to my daily routine. OK, maybe not the 4:15 a.m. walk, but definitely the three others we took together during the day. I feel isolated in this winter cold without you. I don’t see anyone after I come home. I haven’t laid eyes on my neighbors in weeks. So I guess it’s time to retrace your favorite paths, even though just the idea of doing that brings tears to my eyes, just to see a few people and not feel so desperately alone.

See? now I’m crying for real. I’ve been sick for days with a vicious head cold and I miss you so much. There’s no one to take care of me like you did whenever I wasn’t well. Just to have you lay beside me and rest your head on my arm was more comfort than any medicine could offer.

Oh, baby girl … what will I do with all these years before we’re together again?

 

Dear Mina #4

Hey there Bean,

Boy do I miss you right now. Things are kinda falling apart and I miss having you near me to offer your tummy for a belly rub or to kiss my face. I know you’re sort of floating around me from time to time because I’ve noticed that I can smell you sometimes. It’s fleeting but just last night while I was taking a seat on the couch to watch TV I got a very distinct whiff of Mina. I love that so much. Did you know that I needed you?

That makes me think of the song by Townes Van Zandt:

If I needed you would you come to me,
Would you come to me, and ease my pain?
If you needed me
I would come to you
I’d swim the seas for to ease your pain

You always come to me when I need you, even when you’re not physically here. I know that you no longer need me because you’re whole and healthy and young and happy and I’m so glad that you got your miracle.

Keep coming around, sweetie girl. It’s very isolating at home; I don’t see anyone any more without you to be my “best calling card.” I’m not ready to go solo in this life, despite the overwhelming presence of your absence.

All my love

 

Another “First Without” Mina

It’s my birthday. It’s not nearly the big deal it was last year when I had a party at Barrel Oak Winery and 20 friends showed up from near and far, we drank a case of wine and raised more than $800 for Wildlife Direct. The staff at WLD called my cell phone – from NAIROBI – and sang “Happy Birthday.” That memory still makes me smile as do so many others from that day.

This year I’m returning to BOW, cake in hand, to meet a couple of friends and drink a little wine for a bit. The big, gaping hole in the celebration this year is Mina’s absence.

January 24, 2009, Mina cruising the room at BOW on my birthday

We’ve spent every birthday together – hers and mine – since 1997. Mina came to live with me on my birthday that year, just a little more than two months old, the most precious being I’ve ever known. She was a little bitty girl, mostly hair and eyes and a short tail that we found fascinating as it grew longer. She didn’t run, she bounced, and she found joy and wonder in every little thing and every canine and human she encountered. You couldn’t be truly miserable around Mina because she exuded love and joy. At some point you just have to give up your self pity and rub her belly and all is right with the world.

So, that’s what I miss today – Mina’s ability to make my world all right. It’s not OK to spend this birthday and all the rest to come without her. In some ways it feels like an attempt to manufacture cheerfulness, but in some ways it feels like honoring Mina by not sitting here alone and crying in my tea. She hated that, you know. Any time she saw me crying, Mina would do whatever it took to make me stop crying and smile at her antics. She seemed to gauge the situation and then determine her method of cheering me up. If she knew something was very serious then she’d quietly lick away my tears, put her paw on my arm or my leg and just sit with me. If she judged the situation wasn’t dire, then she’d pick up a toy and playfully approach me or she’d dance at the door until I took her outside for a walk, whatever she thought would distract me from being upset. Mina is more wonderful than I can ever express.

Not forgetting my pledge to do good for non-human animals in her honor, I started a fund raising campaign for Wildlife Direct in honor of my birthday. If you’re on Facebook, you can donate on my birthday page. I need only $75 to reach my goal of $250. If you prefer, you can donate directly to Wildlife Direct via the Baraza blog. Any amount will help Wildlife Direct support all the bloggers who are working in the field to protect our wildlife and wild places. Times are critical because of an exploding human population and rising disregard for any form of life that’s not strictly bipedal. Please give what you can.

Mina at BOW, August 2009

As for me? I’ll have a good time today. It’s the coming home that will be so very hard, as it is every time I walk through the door without Mina.

Mina baby, I miss you every minute of the day

 

Finding Mina

All during our lives together I kept close tabs on Mina’s whereabouts. There were two instances when I relied on others and those are the two times that Mina wandered off. I remember them both clearly and, even now, my heart races a bit at the memory.

Mina was still a young puppy the first time she got outside without an escort. I turned into the drive of the complex where I lived with my sister and there was Mina running toward the busy four-lane road that I’d just turned off. I was horrified! I stopped my car and called her name, she ran to me and I scooped her into the car. I raised hell when I saw my sister and spent the rest of the day keeping Mina very close to me.

The second time happened in Denver when Mina and I were moving out of the dump of an apartment we lived in for the first six months of our 18 months there. My friend and I were putting stuff into a pick up truck and I’d asked our boss at the time, a real tool, to keep an eye on Mina. He didn’t and I began searching frantically for her when I saw the apartment door open. I ran all around the complex and finally found Mina, after 10 terrifying minutes, with a group of kids in an alley behind the complex. I was so happy to see her and damn near ready to shoot the man who let her outside.

Since Mina died on November 9, 2009 I’ve been looking for her, listening for her. Habits of 13 years are very hard to break, it seems. Once not long after she died, I heard her breathing in the living room. Once a few weeks later, I heard her bowls rattle in the kitchen, as if she were signaling for a snack. Two evenings ago I finally caught a glimpse of Mina …

I was walking out of my bedroom, carrying my laptop to put in my backpack that sits near Mina’s bowls. I saw her rump and tail and back legs from behind the coffee table, against the curtains beneath the living room windows – in the exact place that Mina took a lot of naps in our three and half years together in our apartment. My adrenaline spiked, I gasped, and I froze in place as I looked over to see that she was there no more.

Mina, resting on October 28, 2009

My imagination? maybe. The wishful thinking of my sorrowful mind? perhaps. A message from my Bean to let me know she’s comfortable and well? I’d like to think so.

What do you think I saw? Have any of you who’ve lost your beloved animal companions experienced any of these events? Whatever I saw it made me feel a bit better after a sad day.

Monday was a hard, hard day. I was home alone on a Federal holiday with no plans and I spent the day in tears as I marked 10 weeks without my beloved. I’m sure some of you think that 10 weeks is quite long enough to mourn a mere non-human animal, or that I should come to terms with the fact that our animal friends have shorter lives than we do, or that she was an elderly dog anyway, blah blah blah …

For the record, none of that comforts me. At all. In fact it has the opposite effect.

What does comfort me are posts such as the ones written by Mina’s Auntie Sue and my friend Samuel. That’s Mina’s legacy, that’s how she’s remembered, that’s how she affected my life and the lives of those who knew her and even someone who never met her. When I look for Mina in the future, I want to find her in the good works that I do, in the happy trot of piglets at the sanctuary, in every leaflet I hand out, and, as my friend Natali wrote, in the stars of a brilliant night sky.

Come see me again, sweetie girl

 

How Things Have Changed

It happens when I least expect it, often doing the most mundane things such as vacuuming the carpet. Today I realized while vacuuming near Mina’s bowls that I no longer hear the sound of dried bits of her food getting sucked up. The coffee table, now covered with a green table runner and Mina’s ashes and hair and photo, stays remarkably clean. You see, when Mina was here with me there were always these mysterious droplets covering the glass-topped coffee table. I couldn’t figure out where they came from but I had to clean them off every week! It took me a month or so to realize that they no longer appear on the glass and that they came from Mina. I guess some mist from her nose or from her mouth when she barked?

I wrote in an earlier post that it’s our daily life together that I miss the most, not the big road trips or parties at the winery, but the simple comfort of being here together. It’s startling to have these little realizations of her absence and it shakes me up every time it happens.

In addition to these small things I still struggle with being here in our home alone. Mina gave me security because I knew she’d bark or give a low growl if anyone came close to our door. Now I sleep with the bedroom and bathroom doors locked, like we used to do when we first moved here.

The security issue will likely pass in time but my sadness is here to stay for a long while, I think. Honestly, when I hear my own laughter it’s a surprise, as if it came from someone else. I laugh so rarely that I wonder if I’ve lost the habit? It occurs to me that I’m not happy at all, that I’m going through the motions of life because I don’t know what else to do.

I miss talking to Mina and laughing with her during our silly games. I miss talking to her a lot. When I return home from work I still anticipate seeing her when I open the door. I always say the same phrase I said every day when I left, telling Mina when I’d be home, to be a good girl, and telling her I love her.

All this probably makes some of you think I’m a little crazy, or maybe a lot crazy. Honestly, it surprises me, too. There are entire days when I can’t speak Mina’s name without crying, there are mornings when I can’t get out the door without a solid crying jag. I don’t miss Mina less as the days go by, it seems I miss her more.

But I am trying to do more things outside this apartment. I’ve been to see movies, to the sanctuary for volunteer chores, spent an overnight at a friend’s house, worked a table at a major expo today for a local vegan organization, and I’m planning a vacation to New Orleans for this summer. I guess it’s the “fake it ’til you make it” philosophy.

The hardest thing to let go of are the bits that remain of our daily routine. One activity I miss used to be the biggest chore; getting up at 4 a.m. to take Mina outside for her first walk of the day in rain, snow, cold, or balmy weather. No matter how sick she was, Mina loved that early walk and was always enthusiastic.

Mina sweetie, I know you’re happy and well in heaven. Don’t forget me, OK?

s.

 

Mina Stories #5 – Mina Loves Pizza

Mina is a credit to her species. Mina is a damn fine canine, before she’s anything else. She loves food. Mina loves all kinds of food, even nasty fried chicken bits found in the grass, or something that fell from someone’s trash bag, and absolutely everything I’ve ever served. I don’t know what they serve in heaven, but I’ll bet my baby girl is eating her fair share of pizza.

We had a long-time habit of having pizza on Friday nights. Mostly it was pizza that I made myself, entirely from scratch, but occasionally I’d bring some home from the Whole Foods pizza kitchen. Mina always got the crusts. All of them. She waited impatiently for her crusts, even if she already had a full belly from her own dinner. I fed them to her in small pieces and Mina did her best not to take my fingers with every bite. Sometimes she got a little taste of the sauce, or of the vegan sausage or vegan pepperoni, but she wasn’t an herbivore so the veggies didn’t tempt her. I avoided giving her any dairy during her life (until chemo) because I know some canines are very lactose intolerant.

I lifted the ban on most foods during the last couple of weeks of Mina’s life. She could have just about anything I was having in addition to the chicken and beef I made for her. She had trouble swallowing in that last week so her foods had to be mashed up or somehow made soft. But it wasn’t until after our last visit to see Dr. Cliver on Thursday, November 5, 2009 that I lifted the food ban completely. Mina could have anything, ANYTHING, that wasn’t immediately toxic. She had such a short time to live on this earth and I wanted her last days to be as good as I could make them.

After that awful appointment we stopped at the leasing office to visit everyone, especially Mina’s beloved Auntie Lolo. We got in the door, I dropped Mina’s leash and she blew past everyone and headed straight for the kitchen. There, on the table, was a delivery pizza and Mina stood sniffing it and stamping her feet. Lori asked if she could have some and I told her she could have an entire slice, that it didn’t matter any more, let’s make her happy.

So Lori carefully cut an entire slice of cheese pizza into small pieces for Mina and walked out into the office to feed her. I took pictures with my iPhone and you can see a slideshow of them on my Flickr site. Mina was so excited she could hardly stand it and nipped Lori’s fingers a couple of times. She wouldn’t sit for more than a second and eagerly chewed the small pieces. She gagged a couple of times, but that didn’t stop her!

When you look at the photos, notice the area under Mina’s chin. It probably won’t mean anything to those of you who never had a chance to meet my Mina, or to those who hadn’t seen her in a while, but to me and the people who saw Mina every day, it’s telling. That’s where the four gigantic lymph nodes were located and they made the skin under her chin expand and look swollen. It’s the only aspect of these photos that makes me so very sad.

That said, I also want to point out the pure joy in Mina’s face and in her body movements. She was so happy to have that pizza – it made her day. I’m living without her pure joy for life and for being with me and it feels impossible. I cry every day, even if for just a little while, mostly when I have to open that door knowing she’s not on the other side, waiting for me.

Heaven must be a much brighter place with my Mina there.

s.

 

Mina’s Thousand Miles Mission

Today’s post is written by my friend, Samuel Maina, who lives in Nairobi and works for Wildlife Direct.

Today marks two months since Mina left us. These two months have been trying for Sheryl and I have observed her agony with utter helplessness. Dog experts will tell you that mourning a departed companion animal cannot be wished away. It is part of the intricate bond humans have forged with dogs since the domestication of dogs some 15,000 to 30,000 years ago.

Before Mina, I would have found it odd that a fully grown lady would go through so much sorrow during the ailing days of her dog, and even more agony after her dog’s inevitable passing on. But Mina changed all that. Even though I never knew Mina in the flesh. She changed the way I view human-companion animal relationships.

Me and the Bean, February 1997

Before Sheryl started talking about Mina, I didn’t have much love for dogs. But don’t get me wrong, I am an animal lover, a conservationist, and a wildlife campaigner. I believed (and still believe) that animals belong in the wild and not in people’s homes. I used to think that owning pets is abuse of the laws of nature. I didn’t even like dogs.

Enter Miss Mina Bean and ‘her human’ Sheryl and my world was about to be turned upside down. I resisted at first, but Mina’s power transcended thousands of miles. Every time I looked at the cute dog’s pictures, in this blog, I felt as though she was pulling me to herself. And every time I felt that I was losing ground. I was afraid. I was losing part of myself (or so I thought).

Mina’s final journey together with Sheryl was heart rending. Through each consecutive post in this blog, I watched helplessly as Mina slowly faded away. It was too much to bear. Countless times I thought to myself “I will not go to Mina’s blog today”, but the thought of the brave little dog taking her last days “like a man” always led me there. I did not leave comments. I had no words for saying anything. I didn’t know what to say.

From the relationship between Mina and Sheryl, I now understand that the bond between one dog’s human and his/her dog is unique. No two dogs can have the same kind of relationship with their human, and equally, no two humans can have the same kind of relationship with one dog. True, Sheryl may get another puppy and love them as much as she loved Mina. But Mina will never be truly replaced. Mina’s place in Sheryl’s life was where and when she was with her, and no other dog can take that place.

Could a dying dog change the perception of an African man thousands of miles away? Well, Mina did. Through Mina, I learned that dogs are not just pets … they are beyond pets. They understand us just as we understand them. We have evolved with them through thousands of years. And even though they would still survive on their own in the wild, they flourish in our homes. With our care. They are part of us. They are family.

With Mina’s help, I found a piece of me that I had lost even before I had had it. I found compassion and love for dogs. Mina did not just leave. She left a legacy. She had a purpose. A mission. A Mission to help an African man find himself. And to me, her mission is accomplished
–
Samuel Maina
WildlifeDirect Inc.
Nairobi

Author – GV Online: http://globalvoicesonline.org/author/samuel-maina/
Home: http://wildlifedirect.org
Blogs: http://baraza.wildlifedirect.org and http://theatreofinconveniences.wordpress.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/swmaina

 

Things Lost

You lose so much more than you at first realize when you lose your life partner/beloved/soul mate. I’m realizing every day how much I lost when Mina died.

Last night I had one whopper of a nightmare. Someone was in our apartment, intent on killing me. A dark figure appeared in my bedroom doorway and, as I reached under the pillow next to me for my gun, grabbed my throat. That’s when I woke up, thankfully. I was breathing rapidly and felt cold. I switched on a light, checked the apartment, then did something I haven’t done in more than two years – closed and locked my bedroom and bathroom doors (they’re connected).

What I really wanted to do was call for Mina and have her come up on the bed and stay with me until I fell asleep again, as she did for so many years. When, in 2007, Mina moved out of our bedroom and into the living room, I would go and find her after a bad dream and lay down beside her until I felt safe again. Even in her last, dying days with me, knowing that Mina was asleep in the living room or in front of the door made me feel safer. I knew she’d alert me to anything unusual because she’s done it in the past. Mina kept me safe, she made me feel secure.

That’s all gone now. We live in a pretty safe neighborhood, as evidenced when I left my keys in the door all night recently, but the feeling of being truly alone without Mina nearby is overwhelming and affects me even when I’m sleeping.

Another thing that I’d thought I’d lost is the scent of Mina about our apartment. On a daily basis I can’t smell her any longer, but when I returned from my road trip and walked in the door it was as if she was still with me. I was delighted! It immediately brought back all the times I’ve buried my face in her neck and hugged her and kissed the side of her sweet face.

I still feel as if I’ve lost my way, lost my guide through life. I’m currently planning a trip to New Orleans after a five-year absence from the place that has always spoken to my soul. It’s oddly difficult to make these plans without this feeling that I have to consider Mina, too. I suppose it’s going to take a very long time to get over the habits of caring for my beloved for 13 years.

Mina Bean, my Mina Bean, please come visit me