Autumn

       Last night, very late, I paused to say "goodnight" to our standard Poodle, Fifi, who was lying sprawled on our front hallway floor. Her primary person, Stephanie, my 13 year old daughter, had gone for a sleepover to a friend’s house, leaving her canine best friend behind. Fifi had been at a loss with what to do with herself for the rest of the evening. Normally she sleeps in Steph’s room, but last night she apparently lay down by the door to wait for my daughter’s return and fell asleep during her watch. At first when I bent to pet her I became concerned; she seemed completely unresponsive to my touch and spoken words. With a pounding sound in my ears I gave her a shake, and she didn’t react. Forcing myself not to panic, I hesitated to listen for breathing, and to my relief she snored loudly. Phew! She had had a long day playing outside, followed by a long evening missing Stephanie; I left the exhausted dog to sleep undisturbed.

This summer, Fifi’s eighth, has seemed to be an exceptionally good one; she has spent many long days outdoors with our children, their friends, and the rest of our canine crew. She has enjoyed playing in our shady yard, sometimes chasing the other dogs, claiming our wading pool from them, and running through our sprinkler with the kids. She has been on picnics, in parades, and on backyard campouts in our tent. This summer, the child in my youngest daughter and the puppy in our oldest dog played together, unchanged by time’s sneaky passage.

Now summer is almost over, and it is nearly time for school to resume. Even little Jake, already three and a half years old, will soon be gone for preschool two mornings a week. I know from past years how Fifi is thrown by the shift from summer vacation to back-to-school days. I know how she misses Steph, how she waits for her like she waited last night. I think of my own adjustments; it will be strange to have my time back to myself, alone with the animals. I am sad, yet at the same time I look forward to it. I miss the quietness of one-on-one time spent with them. I know I'll miss the kids, but I also know I’ll take comfort in the company of my pets.

In Fifi’s case, I plan to be a comfort to her, as well. I am already making plans for spending special time with her, to help ease her pining for Stephanie. We can go for walks together, or just sit outside near the horse pen, watching our summer foal become frisky and bold as the air grows cooler.

Though the "fall season" of this good dog’s life still seems like something for the future, I know how the future can sneak up. Looking at my girls, who now look like adults and nearly are, and our baby, who is now a little boy, I sometimes feel anxious. When they were small, I used to wonder what each of my children would be like when they were grown; I’ve done the same with my pets, wondering at a puppy’s adult looks or personality. In the moment, wondering, I never emotionally realized that I would have to lose the puppy to the dog, the baby to the little child, the child to the young woman. At the other end, when potentials become realized, I catch myself looking back and recognizing the trades that are made, ready and willing or not. I have moments where I'd like to stop time, to tell life "this is good enough; I’d like to stop here". But that would mean no future opportunities for them; none of the joys adult life can bring, and that wouldn‘t be fair.

The childhood pet is a warm memory for the future, and I watch those memories being made for my children. I know stories of Fifi will be shared one day, and I am proud of this dog for being such a positive part of my daughter’s formative years. I feel protective of her, and will try to help ease her through our changing seasons.