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Laki, Heaven's Sweet, Smiling, Shining Angel
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Give sorrow words;
the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'erfraught heart
and bids it break.
-- Shakespeare, Macbeth,
Act IV, Scene 3
A few years ago, I discovered the Internet as a fount of
information, but it was not until our puppy came into our lives that
I learned that the Internet is also an Information
Superhighway for Dogs. My
husband had done a Internet search on dog information, and while
perusing a web page that he had bookmarked, I was led circuitously
through a series of links to a dog-related e-mail list.
I joined the list and "lurked" for some time,
thoroughly enjoying the wealth of information, wisdom, and anecdotes
being shared openly and willingly by like-minded, dog-loving folks.
I was content to be a lurker, but it was a post by a lister who was
grieving the loss of her dog, Lucky, that elicited the writing and
posting of my first post to the list.
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Subject: Rainbow Bridge
Date: Fri, 02 Oct 1998
A lister wrote:
> > Hi,
> Sunday night was a very sad night for me and my husband as
our little 10 week old male puppy had a accidental death and if
tears could bring him back he would be back and live forever....my
granddaughter named him, Lucky.
I replied back to the grieving lister:
Aloha to you and others in pet loss grief,
How my heart goes out to you. If there is comfort in
commiserating, I hope my sharing might help you, as yours helped me.
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Just as Lucky was your
special boy, Laki, which means "Lucky" in the Hawaiian
language, was my special girl, my kissy-face lovebug, and I, hers.
Laki was a one in a gigazillion friend, companion, buddy, and Earth
angel.
We were the perfect match. As much love and affection as she had
to give, I welcomed; as much as I had, she welcomed. We were
copacetic.
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Happy & Laki, hamming it for the camera.
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Just as Lucky was your
special boy, Laki, which means "Lucky" in the Hawaiian
language, was my special girl, my kissy-face lovebug, and I, hers.
Laki was a one in a gigazillion friend, companion, buddy, and Earth
angel.
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Neither of us show girls, we'd been blessed with our ample share
of faults (breeders' lingo for imperfections); mine, too numerous
and embarrassing to list, and hers: erect prick ears of the
"Yoda" variety, a voracious appetite, resulting in her
tipping the scales at an oversized 22 pounds, over-protective with
dogs bigger than she, an ear-cringing, LOUD bark, a sandpapery,
abrasive tongue that threatened to exfoliate our cheeks, and with
front legs that bowed like two parentheses.
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Yes, I did say blessed with faults.
Because of them, her breeder,
Mona,
let her go as a companion pet, twelve years ago. Lucky for us! And
we like to think, lucky for her.
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She was the quintessential couch
potato. Her humans, my husband and I, would often find ourselves
sitting on the floor as "Her Laki-ness" sprawled across
the couch.
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Never obtrusive, she'd wait patiently `til my husband bid me
goodnight and rolled over for the night.
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Then she'd hop up on the
bed, snuggle her body as close to me as she could, sigh contentedly
in her own inimitable way, and we'd fall asleep, leaning against
each other, spine to spine, sharing one pillow.
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>>
How
to Spend a Two-Dog Night
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In the morning, she'd wait quietly for me to awaken, her head
poised between her paws neatly placed side-by-side.
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As soon as she'd
see my eyes open, she'd crawl close and gently lay her sweet head on
my shoulder, looking deeply into my eyes with her soulful, brown
Sheltie eyes that said, "I love you!". Laki, of the sultry
eyes with the golden lashes.
We'd nuzzle. Mornings, so sweet.
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I went to sleep, every night, in love, and awoke, every morning,
in love. Laki helped me keep my faith in love and life, even when
severely tested, because she herself was loving-kindness... The
Aloha Spirit,
personified… er, doggified.
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This year, we were visited with uncharacteristic rain, high
humidity and falling barometric pressures, which triggered my latent
case of arthritis.
Combined with overzealous gardening and years of
repetitive stress syndrome at work, my right arm and shoulder became
severely inflamed.
The onset of this disabling pain coincided with the beginning of
our one-month vacation in July. In hindsight, it was a blessing in
disguise.
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Without the usual 1001 distractions vying for my
attention, my time was well-spent BEING with my husband and our
dog-kids, Laki and Happy (Hau`oli in Hawaiian) at our weekend
mountain home.
Our home in the mountains is named Heaven. When people inquire about our weekend
plans, we say, "We're going up to Heaven!" It lives up to
its name, as it is our Heaven on Earth, our most favorite place to
be.
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It was a "family vacation" at its best.
Together, all four
of us were taking long walks in the mountains, lazily floating on the
water, and rusticating on the front porch swing, napping on the
two-person (and two-dog) hammock, and visiting with human and dog
friends in the neighborhood.
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Life was at its most peaceful and content. We were living our
Bliss.
Three weeks into our vacation, on a Friday, while romping on the
floor, we discovered Laki's tumor, and immediately sought veterinary
help. Surgery was scheduled for the following Monday.
The surgery was performed; the tumor, excised. We stayed at her
side in the recovery room, waiting for the anesthesia to wear off.
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At the end of the workday, just as the veterinarian assistant came
by to transfer Laki into a recovery crate, Laki made it out of
anesthesia, but just barely.
She weakly opened her eyes, recognized
us and struggled to get out of the assistant's arms and into ours.
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The kind assistant was reassuring, informing us that an overnight
stay was routine for post-surgical monitoring. We were ever so
politely being "schussed" out of the office.
On the way home, I fought off powerful impulses to turn around
and bang on the door. Laki had never spent a night alone, ever. If
we were away on trips, her sister, Happy, was always with her.
Sleep completely evaded me, and the evening turned into the dark
night of the soul. With an afghan wrapped around me, I stepped
outside for some fresh air.
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The coolness of the mountain night air was invigoratingly bracing.
The moon was peeking through the pines, its silvery light enough for
me to go walking down the dark country road without a
flashlight.
I must have walked for miles.
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The coolness of the mountain night air was invigoratingly
bracing. The moon was peeking through the pines, its silvery light
enough for me to go walking down the dark country road without a
flashlight. I must have walked for miles.
In the silence of the night, I was able to focus my thoughts and
bridge our physical separation. What I felt dismayed me: I was
feeling Laki's suffering. She was barely clinging on to life, yet
tenaciously fighting back to hold on.
When my husband awoke to an empty bed, he went looking for me.
Finding me, he joined my walking vigil. We have never felt closer in
our 24 years of marriage. Together, we prayed, and prayed, and
prayed. Spent, we collapsed on the afghan that we spread over an alcoved
corner of our front yard, under the pines, alongside the lilac
bushes and in front of the front porch.
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Over the years, we had spent
countless hours here as a family, with Happy and Laki, usually
napping and occasionally defending us from reckless squirrels, while
we indulged our pastimes of Hawaiian music listening and book
reading.
Laying on the ground, we
snuggled close and scanned the skies.
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At the 6000 foot elevation,
our cabin was canopied with a crystal clear, midnight-blue mountain
sky with millions of stars, brightly glittering in that rarefied
atmosphere.
The same silent wish was wished upon every falling star:
"Thy Will, not mine."
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Attempting to sleep was futile, and as the sun rose, we drove
down to the vet's and sat in the parking lot just to be physically
closer to Laki.
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When,
finally, the front door was opened, we rushed in to learn
that Laki had made it through the night!
We were elated
and greatly relieved, and so was she. As happy as she was,
try as she might, she could not get up.
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The veterinarian informed
us that it was best to keep Laki under observation in the office and
wait until she was up and about on her own.
As she lay on the
recovery table, Laki's eyes, barely opened, held mine firmly. They
spoke with a calm eloquence, letting me know that she was at peace.
We were heartened, and we happily whiled away the next three hours
alongside her.
Between her naps, we gently brushed her, scratched
her chest, nuzzled, and cooed endearments and encouragements.
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During the hour that followed, however, Laki's
breathing became labored. I asked my husband to get the
veterinarian.
As I held her in my arms, Laki locked her eyes onto
mine. With eyes full of love, she again communicated a sense of
profound peace.
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Gazing directly into her eyes,
with as much love as I could convey to her, I
silently communicated back:
"Laki, if it's too hard, as
much as I want to hold on to you, I won't hold you
back. I commend you to Thy Will.
We come here with a mission. When
it is accomplished, we get to go Home. I once had
a glimpse of Home, but my mission was not yet done
and I reluctantly came back.
It was meant to be. Since that
time, life here has been full of blessings. You
have been one of the Biggest! I will always love
you.
Laki, Home was BEAUTIFUL, truly
Home, Sweet Home.
If your mission is done, Laki, and
it's time for you to go Home, it's okay to let
go..."
A second later, I watched her pupils
dilate. Laki had let go.
I witnessed "a quickening"
as her spirit left her body. I've searched for the
words that would describe her Spirit's exit. This is
the best that I've come up with, however inadequate:
…a microsecond of scintillating,
squiggling energy that spiraled upward …
When my husband returned with the
veterinarian in tow, I let them know that Laki was
gone. The vet checked for vital signs and confirmed
what we already knew. We thanked her, knowing that
she had done her best to help Laki. Hugging, we all
three cried together.
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We
brought Laki's body home. As my husband dug a deep hole in the
flower bed, I wrapped Laki's body in soft, white cotton.
We
returned her body back to the `âina (the land), laying her favorite
dog biscuits and brush (how she did love being brushed!) alongside
her body, then scattered plumeria blossoms and jerky treats, before
filling her grave with garden soil.
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Her grave is under the pines, next to the
alcove in the yard where we lay the night before wishing on
falling stars. Her "headstone" is garden statuary:
a deer and her fawn.
After the burial, we let Happy out the
front door. She headed straight to Laki's grave and lay down
beside it.
Was this turn of events as stunning for her
as it was for us?
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Just the day
before, Laki was a vigorous dog, full of life.
Smiling her preciously
sweet smile, Laki was the picture of sparkling health, bounding with
joy to be going on her morning walk.
Little did any of us
suspect that it would be our last walk together. Within 24 hours,
our sweet, smiling Laki was ripped from our hearts and Happy's.
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These are our last pictures,together.
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Happy,
the feisty,
independent soul, and Laki, the Velcro Lovebug, had grown up
together, spending every hour of their days together.
When Happy began losing her hearing, Laki became her ears; when
it was mealtime, Laki would bark loudly to get Happy's attention,
then herd her to their bowls. Over-sized Laki became diminutive Happy's protectress, watching over her with a protective eye.
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Our brave Spirits prevailed during
those hours of farewell, but our human minds were
left reeling in numbing disbelief; our hearts, in
deep sorrow.
We reminded ourselves that Happy's
loss is even more profound.
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This is months later, and there are
days when the gaping void is overwhelming huge; the
grief, abysmal and beyond words. As you said...if
tears could bring them back...Laki would be back in
a heartbeat and here for all eternity.
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But that's not how it works...
And we
struggle to accept Thy Will and set her free.
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When despair threatens to devastate,
we hold Happy close (she has become less
independent and more affectionate) and remind
ourselves how lucky we've been to have been blessed
with Happy and Laki love for thirteen
all-too-short years.
I remember what Tennyson said, "Better to have loved and
lost, than never to have loved at all." Yadda,
yadda, yadda.
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In hindsight, we now see that Laki's
final act of love and consideration. Her last gift
to us was her impeccable timing in taking her leave.
She had valiantly fought to make it through the
night, so we would bid her goodbye on July 28. She
made sure that the saddest day of our lives did not
coincide with our happiest, July 27, our wedding
date.
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Before your post here about the loss
of your Lucky, I hadn't been ready to deal with our
Laki's unexpected death with words. I was ready
today to "give sorrow words."
Tonight, I will send my prayers
upward for our lucky dogs; I pray that your Lucky,
our Laki, and other Shelties and pets lost by those
who are reading this will find each other to play,
be with, and love each other as they
await our return Home.
"You think that dogs will not be in Heaven?
I tell you, they will be there before any of us."
-- Robert
Louis Stevenson (1850 - 1894)
Me ke aloha, Lei & Sheltie-kids:
Happy, age 13 & Laki's legacy, `Oli, age 6 months.
http://hawaiianlanguage.com
sweetlei@hawaiianlanguage.com
HI/CA
P.S. Laki's legacy? Putting us in intimate touch
with Aloha on a daily basis, Laki left us with a love overflowing.
When I thought I couldn't open my broken heart to another, Laki was
the conduit. She ensured our hearts' mending by leading us to
another companion pup...but that's another story for another time.
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August
2003: Epilogue to Laki's Story
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As you've just read, I poured my
heart out, writing this through flowing tears.
Feeling vulnerable, I hesitated posting something so
personally painful (and long), but sent it off
"on a wing and a prayer".
Unexpectedly, writing,
then sharing this, has been a healing exercise.
Within hours, my Inbox was filled
with email from listers who were tremendously
supportive, kind, and understanding. I shall always
be grateful to the outpouring of condolences and
expressions of sympathy and empathy by these listers,
as their words helped us to get through the most
difficult time of our lives.
Aloha
`Oe
e Laki.
Farewell to
Thee, Laki.
This website is our tribute to you,
our sweet, smiling Sheltie angel
waiting for us at the Rainbow
Bridge.
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