Adoring Eyes

Have you ever had another being look at you with pure adoration? Wouldn't it be wonderful if every time you turn in someones direction, you were met with eyes of love?

My little dog Dot looked at me that way. She was always tracking me, she was my shadow. On my left arm she sat, sometimes with right front paw balancing on my pinky, and we would move synergistically, here there and everywhere. If I got up, she sat up. If I left the room, she often followed. Before settling in for a nap, she made sure I wasn't going anyway, then she would curl into a tight ball, watch me, and then shut her eyes. 

I used to call her my attack Yorkie. She barked when someone was at the door, and nipped at heels without ever taking a bite. She was fierce, until she knew a person wasn't a threat, and then she would approach slowly, ears down, to meet and greet whoever it was that had entered her domain. I always found it fascinating that such a cute tiny thing, that looked more like a rat or cat, could and would, act just like a dog, sometimes like a big dog. 

Today I am forlorn and at a great loss. I type, I write, because it is my solace, my heart leaking into my fingertips; my heart longing to be held and comforted. My arms are empty, and have phantom limb like sentiments ... Something is missing, they say ... we look for that slight weight, that fury texture. Where has it gone?

Sometimes I would talk to Dot while she sat up on my left forearm. That is when she would turn her head slowly and we would make eye contact. We made a lot of eye contact, she was my little ever present friend and confidante. She adored me in that extraordinary way that perhaps, only an indiscriminate animal can? I mean she saw me in all my glory and in all of my failings, and loved me always, and wanted to be with me always and everywhere. 

We all have glory, we all have failings ... to be loved deeply as we are is what we all want most, isn't that so?

Yesterday a dog grabbed hold of Dot and while she was in its mouth, it shook her. I picked her up from the forest ground, and in a daze she looked me in the eyes, one last time, and I saw confusion there and a question of, What just happened, was conveyed. What just happened ... I know what happened, but I don't want it to be so. 

Today I recall yesterday, holding her on my forearms, as she snuggled into my inner elbow one last time. I felt her heart beat under my finger tips, and then that stopped. She was happy and perky, and then she was limp and lifeless. 

I hear the birds singing, they too, seem happy in their chirping. I think of all the parents that have lost a child and the heart break they must have or even do still feel. Having a life ripped away from you is a cruelty that cannot be reconciled, ever. 

I have asked God to give me wisdom and understanding. I know that I can be refined in the fire of sorrow. The fact that I could not stop the attack, could not prevent it, can not bring her back has me humbled beyond ... well, beyond.

My Saviour was spit upon, cursed at, mocked, beaten, crucified. His mother watched helplessly, and could not stop it. Jesus could have stopped it, but alas, He knew what the cross meant for mankind's future. He knew it was the only Way. God could have prevented Dot's death. He could have given her another day, or seven more years. He could have, but then again, we could have done some things differently too, not just yesterday, but perhaps every day of our lives, dear reader?

I think about adoring eyes, God's eyes of love. He watches us, as we go here there and everywhere, and wonders why He isn't invited to go along? God's creatures are replicas of Him, aren't they, dear one? I can understand why many love their dogs more than they love people ... the eyes of love are irresistibly kind, even when humans are not so kind. 

I don't really know what to do with myself, dear reader. My thoughts keep going to memories ... and I think of those that have survived tragic losses. I see how someone might die from a broken heart, my aunt did, when her toddler son went out for a walk with a cousin, and ten minutes later was returned to her, dead from drowning in the town fountain. It happened suddenly, tragically, and could not be undone.

I miss my dog and want her back: we all do, want her back. I know you, dear reader, there are people, perhaps pets too, you want back and simply cannot have ... there is only One giver and taker of life, and He does not have to consult with us regarding what happens in the world, in our lives, in our homes and relationships. He wants us to consult with Him though, dear one ... that makes all the difference, I know this to be true from experience. God is the balm for a cut and bruised soul.

Dot left a paw print on my heart. She impressed me with her steadfast loyalty and love. I have an ache that endures, because of the violence with which she was snatched away. I cannot comprehend a family member being murdered and having to reconcile with it ... how, how? God is how, He is our only how in dealing with horrifying situations. 

When the other dog had Dot by the throat ... that was so odd, and vicious. 

It occurred to me that is exactly how humans behave, just like wild animals, when they kill their own kind. How, how? Satan is how, only he can instil the blood lust required for a man to kill another person, or persons by the millions. 

I am not mad at the dog that killed my dog ... I am sad I don't have Dot with me anymore. It just isn't right, you know?

Last year Dot and I had our picture taken ... she sat on my forearm, right paw on my pinky. I would love to have that day back, I would love to have yesterday back, before she was stolen away ...

I love you Dottie, dot com ... I love you binky ... I miss you and love you ... I am sorry you were attacked, you sweet happy little thing ... 

I am sad