I am not ready to write about the dog I have lost. The dog of my heart and soul. My sun and moon. My stars, my dawn. I cannot yet write of Jay, the dog that has been taken from me. Of how our mutual existence created a private world of fluid love, compromise, and unspoken secrets. Of how no matter the surroundings, Jay and I were always alone. If you understand my grief, then you, too, have lost your forever dog. I am sorry. If you are reading this with curiosity, you have never met your forever dog. Of that, I am even sorrier.
Tonight, I choose to write about a different dog. Tonight, I write about Mac—who is no longer my “younger dog” but is my only dog.
To lose a soul mate is to be incomplete, and the thought of withdrawing from daily life seduces me. Of gently folding inward, like the petals of a flower in evening, and letting myself fall silently into darkness. What stops me, what allows me to resist this temptation, is the small thread running from my heart to Mac’s.
The spider’s silk.
As I write, a small spider is crawling across the bar, behind the laptop screen, over an unopened wine bottle. Spiders have the unique ability to spin silk which they then put to multiple uses. The most widely known, of course, is for web weaving: rigid silks provide support while sticky threads capture the insects necessary to sustain life. Different silks form a protective case around eggs, ensuring future generations. Other silks can be spun into little tufts that allow a spider to travel on the breeze. The one that matters to me today is the silk that can be rapidly spun into a lifeline, allowing a spider to hold fast and quickly escape danger.
Spider silk conforms to a variety of necessary requirements. It is nearly invisible, and it is able to stretch to absorb shock. It can be made longer or recycled and made shorter, depending on the immediate need. Spider silk is soft yet strong, with a tensile strength similar to steel.
The morning after Jay died, I looked at Mac and felt as if I didn’t know him. As if his emotional presence, by some incredulous trick, had escaped my notice for the past four years. My brain tells me this notion is ludicrous: I helped Mac take his first breath the morning he was born. I have trained him, I have cared for him, and I have loved him. We have made countless memories together, many of which are relayed as humorous little stories shared with friends or co-workers. I have, of course, noticed his unique personality and charm. Right? Yes, of course. Why do I have to argue with myself about this? Yet, I pause, and I reflect. Did I ever open my heart to him? Did I ever ask him to share in the responsibility of my life? Did I give him my sadness, my insecurities, my sleepless nights? No, I didn’t. I never did. I never even considered it. I reached for Jay at every turn. It was Jay I went to for solace, it was Jay who fell asleep in my arms at night, with our eyes fluttering shut and our breaths becoming gentle.
If I don’t know Mac, that is my own fault. Because he certainly knows me.
The spider’s silk holds fast. I couldn’t shake it if I wanted to. Mac won’t meet my grief in the middle, he is insistent on pulling me up to safety. To life. There is no point in fighting him; instead, I have become silent, become mindful, of all the little ways Mac loves me. When I read by the fireplace, he sleeps behind the chair, so if I look to the right, I can just see his feet or his ear poking out from behind the chair. When I get out of the shower, my feet can feel where the floor is warm, because he has been resting there, waiting for me. When he discovers something that makes me laugh he will do it over and over—my laughter fuels him, it is his reward. He tickles me with his soft whiskers and lets me tickle his feet. He can fit perfectly in the crook of my legs when I am sleeping. Mac encourages me to believe that we can accomplish anything, for he does not know how to fail.I have my entire life to grieve for Jay. To miss him. To feel incomplete in his absence. I don’t have a lifetime to spend with Mac, and I will not waste these days with him. I will give him my burdens along with my joy, and I will trust that the silk he spins is able to bear both.
