Abundance

When I was a tiny little thing, my grandma had a cocker spaniel, Judy, which I adored. ADORED. Jittery little kids are sometimes lucky to have receptive animals to pour love into. By the time I was aware of Judy, she was already afflicted with breeding deficits that cockers have, in particular, she was going blind. Didn't matter. She was in tune with me and I was attuned to her.

One day I'll ask my sister or Mom, but I don't remember what happened to Judy. I suspect that she was euthanized and that I was told some discomforting tale, although easily digestible and forgettable. Predictably, Judy the stuffed dog took her place for many years. I would like to know what specific histories and wishes that soft friend held for me. She wasn't simply a remembrance of the dog I loved. Security is one of those inclusive terms that requires an geologist of emotions to understand its composition.

For whatever reason, the day came when my parents decided that Judy was no longer a worthy companion. Probably made sense because of hygiene alone. But I always felt that the decision to remove Judy was motivated by some animus, some misplaced sense of helping me grow up. The cruel shove into the deep end of life. I was devastated when she went away. There was no story in place. Just the hard slap that things go away.

Recently, my nephew's dog, a happy, wild brute, was killed by a car. There's not any good way to introduce the death of someone so beloved to a six year old. My sister and her husband decided to say that he ran away. I'm not making any judgment on their choice. I might have done the exact same thing.

What Eli then created warmed all of our hearts. His beautiful imagination created a story where his dog decided to take the long trip to play with Eli's beloved cousins in Michigan, over 200 miles away. He was wise enough to find a world for his friend to run in. I am calling on some faith that I might see Judy running there too.