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Lesson 66
Dogs Know When To Hold On
“There is a time to hold on and a time to
let go.”
---Unknown
On a beautiful May afternoon my wife and I took Blue, Celeste, and Mead
for a nice long run and walk at the beach. They ran, played, and swam with
great enthusiasm. I threw the stick and the ball far out into the ocean.
Celeste, in her usual manner, followed after Blue and Mead, barking when
she thought they were going too far out to retrieve. Mead turned her head
from the huge breakers and unintentionally bodysurfed back toward us. Blue,
with her characteristic devil-may-care, breakneck attitude, crashed straight
forward into the waves.
It was a quite wonderful day at the beach for both us and the dogs. We had
one heart-stopping moment when Celeste discovered a full-grown seal out
of the water, far down the beach. She ran circles around the confused seal,
and Blue and Mead went charging to join her, barking wildly. We were able
to get them all on the leash before any harm could come to the seal or the
dogs. At least, that’s what we thought.
I noticed that Blue had blood coming from her left nostril. I assumed that
she had taken a direct hit from a wave, so I shrugged it off. “She’ll
be fine,” I assured my wife. Blue had always been the most focused,
toughest, most athletic dog I had ever known. She had never been sick a
single day of her life. She started running with me daily when she was just
8 weeks old. She had once run forty miles with me and was still ready for
more. During one of our runs together a car struck her. I thought surely
she was dead, but she merely hopped back up, ignored her scrapes and cuts,
and gave me one of her “let’s get on with it” looks. This
dog was invincible. At least, that’s what we thought.
All summer long there were trips to the vet, trips to specialists, and test
after test. All had been inconclusive. Virtually every possibility had been
ruled out; however, the nose continued to bleed. Finally, the vet suggested
an MRI. Near the end of the summer we were devastated to learn that Blue
had a nasal tumor that was malignant and that surgery was not an option.
The only treatment option available was to have Blue undergo weeks of radiation
treatment. There were no guarantees; however, our vet told us that she had
seen dogs respond to the treatment and get another eighteen months to two
years of quality life. I was worried about the side effects – the
loss of hair, the possibility of blindness in one eye, the physical drain
on her body caused by weeks of radiation three times per week.
Many people could not understand and were not very subtle about expressing
their views to us. How could we spend thousands of dollars for treatment
on a dog that is terminally ill? Why not just put her to sleep? What’s
the point?
I guess the only point was that throughout all our lives there will be times
that we must let go; however, there are also times to hold on. In all sorts
of situations in our lives – in our work, in our relationships, with
our dreams, and, yes, even in matters of life and death – there will
be times to hold on and times to let go. Our challenge is to do all that
we can to wisely determine which is which. Blue, for months now, has been
showing me every day – even through her difficulties with this disease
– she still wants to hold on.
She has lost hair, lost most of her vision in one eye, and her nose still
bleeds with regularity; however, she still wants to take me for my run every
day. She still wants to play. She still takes joy in the wonderful gift
known as the life experience. So, we are holding on.
Blue is just two treatments short of completing the entire series of radiation
treatments. She has willingly gone for each treatment and even has had an
enthusiastic wag of her tail for the doctor each time that I drop her off.
Today, when I took her for her treatment she stopped outside the door. I
assured her that it was okay. She refused to go inside. I hugged her, and
together we turned around and headed for the car. There is a time to hold
on and a time to let go. Wisdom knows the difference.
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