All is quiet now, too quiet, and the days are long, much too long. I find dog treats hidden under my bed, and pills, removed from demolished chicken decoys, lurking in secret places. Before I open my eyes each morning I reach my hand out to give Finnegan his morning scratch, forgetting that my four legged little friend of 16 years and 3 months was put to sleep on a bleak rainy Wednesday when Saturn and Mars challenged one another in the skies. It would be comforting to think that badly behaved Planets might share some responsibility for the dog shaped emptiness I feel.

Finnie was mixed breed, an old fashioned love-child, untroubled by the fact that he had neither a ‘doodle’ or ‘poo’ to his name. One side was cool, detached as a Buddhist Monk, and rightly so as Lhasa Apsos started life in Tibet as guardians of Temples high in the Himalayas. The other part had the spark and down-to-earth cheek of a Yorkshire Terrier whose favourite game was chasing joggers, deaf to commands and pleas. This skill earned him two ASBOs (Anti-Social Behaviour Orders) forcing him to be kept on a lead for long periods after each display of sheer doggy joy. The alternative was banishment from his favourite place, the garden where he met his friends each day. 
 

Last year he began to show symptoms of Dementia. As time passed his distress increased. He became restless, paced without ceasing, his sight gone. He got trapped under furniture, faced corners for long periods or stared at the wall. He barked if I tried to leave him or make a telephone call. He barked to go out, and at the open door to come in. 

When it was over, guilt tore me apart. Did I betray my little friend? Did I let him down at the end? I remembered times I'd been impatient, earplugs in, begging him to be quiet, reasoning, yelling, pleading and apologising all in one breath. It helped to ask myself what would I have chosen had I been Finnie on that bleak September day? I had no hesitation in opting for release. It helped also to remember that Finnie, like all animals, never blamed, criticised or judged. He lived in the moment, accepted me as I was, and loved without conditions. That energy must transcend living, dying and anything in between.
                           
                    Finnie, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you. 

                                                                                       Ho'oponopono                                                             

Some years ago a friend who had given us a lift home stopped her car to let us alight. I unfastened my seat belt, took Finnie in my arms  and opened the car door. A pit-bull, mixed breed without a lead, appeared, jumped into the car,  grabbed Finnie by his left front leg and dragged him into the street. I held on. The owner snatched at the dog’s spiked collar in an attempt to restrain him, but failed. Every movement, every turn and twist by the solid muscled dog stripped flesh from Finnie’s leg until the bones were exposed, the pavement covered in blood. A woman approached with a bucket of water, but a fierce command from the owner ‘Don’t wet my dog’ sent her away.

The sound of Finnie’s agonised yelps brought people running from all directions until a large crowd gathered. Several police cars arrived. Uniformed officers busied themselves holding back the ever increasing number of spectators but none of them approached us. I lost all sense of time and just held on, my face never further than the length of Finnie’s leg from the flat head and small mean eyes. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. I learned later that the stand-off lasted approximately forty-five minutes.

Suddenly silence fell and the crowd facing us on the pavement parted. The owner of the dog loosened his grip on the spiked collar. A slender young black man came towards us. He knelt on one knee behind the big dog and with the utmost delicacy and sensitivity placed a jacket gently over the cold, mean eyes. The dog lost its bearings, his clamped jaw relaxed and I managed to get Finnie's leg, now a bundle of bones, out of his mouth.

I never saw that young man again. I asked peple who had been there, those I knew, and others who recognised us and stopped to ask about Finnie, but no-one had seen the young man arrive, and no-one saw him leave. Some said that the police had taken statements, including one from him. I asked at the Police Station more than once. They said they had no record or knowledge of it. He seemed to have vanished like a puff of smoke. Was it an Angel who came to our rescue? If so, he wasn’t dressed in cloth of gold. I still have the simple little jacket which had been wrapped around Finnie. It was stiff with dried blood when I returned home from the vet that evening. 

Finnie did recover, but it took a long time. There was a possibility that gangrene might develop and he would lose his leg, but we were lucky. After months of medication and countless visits to the vet, he had an operation. The shattered little bones in his paw were screwed, pinned and wired together and my brave little Finnegan got down to the serious business of having fun again.

It's comforting to think that his special Angel might be taking care of him at this very moment.  He couldn’t be in better hands. 

PS. I would love to hear if you have experienced help which came out of the blue when you needed it most.