Burying Willie, A Short and True Story

I dreamt about Willie again last night. In my dreams, he is usually lost and I wake up in a bit of a panic, freightened that he is gone forever. Once or twice over the past six years, I dream I've found him and am saddened to wake up and not find him at my side. Either way he is not there. Willie was my 18-pound, black and tan minature dachshund. I put him to sleep on the last Friday in May, 2000. He had been having some serious medical problems for over a year and when dementia, and ultimately blindness emerged, it became apparent that I would need to deal with losing him. He would sometimes walk into furniture and hurt his eye which was already a serious problem, and sometimes he would just walk around whimpering a little ...until he was sure I was there. He seemed only to be at peace in my arms or at my side. In addition, he was having trouble finding his water which I had in three places for him, and he would wake up from sleeping, shivering. My skilled vet, Dr. Watanabe, explained that this could be the result of a brain tumor and I sensed that organs were shutting down inside of him. Far from least, on the 15th day of a 14-day antibiotic treatment, the infection that pervaded his eye and plagued him for nearly a year, returned with the familiar lump at his right cheek bone. Dr. W. put Willie to sleep with dignity and I was able to be with him throughout the entire process, along with one of my closest friends, Lauren.

On the scheduled day, I left Santa Monica and drove to Orange County intending to drop Willie off at Lauren's place before going to my therapy appointment, but as I drove southward, I knew I didn’t want to part with him, so I decided to take him along to my appointment. Since this bought us some time, I took him to Kramer Park in Fullerton. He enjoyed meandering leashlessly through the clover-covered hills, and I enjoyed knowing we could be a little reckless since there was plenty of open space for his roaming. When Willie was really happy he engaged in little sneezes and snorts, and for a short while he sneezed and he snorted, alternately whirling his nose up into the air, taking in the unfamiliar scents of the humid late spring air --a joyful time for both of us. My therapist was glad to meet Willie. She too, was an animal lover, especially of dogs, like me, and fell in love with him. After the appointment, I took Willie to McDonalds for chicken mcnuggets and we went back to the park to eat them before meeting Lauren at her school. (I would have never given him junk food, but this was his last day --his very last day ever --his very last day here with me, and as I suspected, he really enjoyed them.) On the drive up to Dr. W.'s, Lauren assured me that I did not have to go through with it; that we could make the trip to his office as many times as necessary. Her words, and the words of another close friend, that putting him to sleep should be the last thing ...the last resort, took the pressure off of the decision even though we were in route.

Lauren used the term "carried" to describe that Friday afternoon. And that truly characterized our experience. We prayed together outside while waiting for the appointment. During that time Willie got “trapped” in the straps of my backpack. He was on a six-foot leash, but somehow managed to get stuck in the straps of the pack that lay at my feet. At home he would on occasion “trap” himself under a chair or table. Once we were in the office with Dr. W., I asked a few more questions to be sure of my decision, and then in an unusually clear moment when I knew what I needed to do, I very decisively asked that we go ahead with it. The first of four shots relaxed him while I sobbed like a baby. The second shot took Willie into a deeper sleep and a third was a mild tranquilizer ...not planned, but when the doc asked if I would like that, I needed no convincing. Through each stage I held him and told him how much I loved him. I thanked him for the love and genuine joy he had given me --for his faithfulness of 17 years. Soon enough he began to snore which was a very good sign ...he truly was relaxed. Before the final shot, Dr. W. asked me if I was ready and I shook my head. Once he gave it, we broke down completely; all of us. This was the hardest, most inconceivable thing I’ve ever had to do, and I am grateful that one of my closest friends could be with me, and wanted to be with me, and I was grateful that I didn't have to let go of him just then. Two weeks earlier I had found a long burlap bag in excellent condition, with a thick drawstring at the top ...a remnant of a local garage sale the day before. I had taken it home and washed it, knowing that I would bury Willie in it. It was perfect for him.

We were the last of Dr. W.’s patients that day, as planned, and when we exited the back door, his staff sent us off with hugs and thoughtful words of encouragement. The office is in San Merino on the border of South Pasadena and we needed to travel to Claremont to bury him. I think it was around 6 p.m. or so —a beautiful evening, and while holding precious Willie in my arms, I secretly wanted to be driven quietly and very, very slowly to his final resting place. Just before we came up to the freeway entrance, Lauren announced that while it might take a little longer, she thought we could travel surface streets to her folk’s home. I felt so blessed right then ....as if she had read my mind. My mind and heart of course, were with Willie. I could feel the top of his head under my chin.

I don’t know what roads we took to get to Claremont, but the sweet summer smells of roses and orange blossoms lured and lulled us along beautiful, if not stunning, tree-lined streets. When I would on occasion, look up, I saw that we were surrounded by flower-laden bushes and blooming branches of more variety than I can name. Had the view included meadows, and a river, I would have guessed that we had all managed to enter Nirvana ...it felt like a meandering river ...like floating ...like being carried. In retrospect I wonder how this could have been on the Friday night of a three-day weekend which is more typically characterized by impatience, noise, pollution, and overheating tempers. I am grateful for God's spirit.

We were met with gracious hospitality at the McIver's home. Rob, Lauren's brother, had already dug Willie’s grave, as arranged by her parents, and when I walked through the gate and stood next to it, cradling Willie, I once again, broke down. Then someone brought out a chair and I sat there for quite some time ...just me and Willie until my aching arms were ready to let go of him.

As my focus began to move away from the warmth of the beloved bundle in my arms and to the task ahead of me, I noticed my surroundings as if for the first time. The sun was going down and I could hear way off in the background that cherished sound of a train passing through. I saw that we were quite near a tree bursting with lemons, a rose garden off to the left and behind us a bit, and a planter, running nearly the entire length of the substantial, well-manicured yard, in front of us and off to the right.

As I began to concentrate on the hole and on the two piles of soil, I became seriously concerned about the number of rocks in them, and primarily of their size. Some were large, weighing maybe around six or seven pounds and I knew they would be too heavy for him. I sat for some time longer and then without really planning anything, placed Willie on the shaded grass and climbed into the hole. From there I picked him up and placed him in it, but decided to carve out a place within the hole that would specifically fit his small form. I then placed him back in the hole, and again, without planning exactly what I was going to do, I began to gently fit the rocks around him. Lauren came out of the house then and we continued building the rocks up and around him. We would consider the size, shape and weight of a rock and then gently place it where it belonged. Initially Lauren would hand the rocks to me and I would know exactly where they should go... this moon-shaped one above his head, that larger one off to the side to lend structure to the grave, smaller stones to wedge in between the bigger ones until he was covered, but not crushed ...perhaps not even touched. A short while later I found myself digging deep into the dirt piles and plucking out, with intense and creative energy, the perfect rock for this location or that. Lauren would then take the rock and ask, “Here?” or “Where would you like this one?” And if one was ideal for a certain spot, she would place it and I would say, “yes, yeah-yeah-yeah, right there; perfect,” and once or twice, “No, how about over here a little bit,” ....or “over there slightly....”

It felt great to be in the earth, in the rich smell of the soil I was born to love; of collaborating on such an important project —of simply “being.” I loved being so creatively involved in the work and of being covered in the damp soil; I think Lauren did too. And we both loved how the rocks became the solution as opposed to the obstacle I initially saw them as. We took turns spreading shovels-full of soil over the first layer of rocks, watching it shift softly into place. We then placed a second layer of heavier rocks over the original layer of rocks and soil, and packed them in with a final layer of earth. We pushed two remaining boulders over to the surface of the grave as markers, and then selected and cut roses, the stems of which I wedged in between the boulders. Willie’s grave was beautiful and the process of burying him was tender, and filled with God's mercy and grace.

It was dark when we completed the painful and sacred work. Lauren’s mom prepared a late supper for us and we ate on the patio. As usual, I enjoyed the McIver's humor and I was thankful for the laughter.

There were times that were nearly unbearable, and even now, as evidenced by the continuing dreams, I’m somewhat lost without the warmth of him next to me; without the jangle of the tags on his collar —his habit of letting me know of his need for something --my trigger to do the next thing; the long, long walks. I loved nurturing him and talking to him, and even though it's been, unbelievably, over six years, I sometimes still do. In my former home, I had prepared a little altar in a corner of my bedroom and placed in it his sheepskin bed, his collar, harness and leash, his blanket and a favorite photo ...the one where he looks like Mighty Mouse coming in for a landing taken in a Francisco Heights park in San Francisco. (See "Willie Feigning Mighty Mouse")

I have been given another corner where I can be with Willie as well. Sometime before putting him to sleep, I had begun to imagine a triangle-shaped corner of a stunningly beautiful and deep river just off of a meadow. It seems that this image started with a dream. It is a small cut in the river which is very full and clean, and its water transparent and crisp. In this corner I can see and hear the water moving gently over reeds and healthy lower roots of vibrant trees from the surrounding orchard, and I can see the silky wetness of a bigger branch or root which causes the water to trickle and then slow to a pond, though it does keep moving. I have enjoyed the image just as it is, but after Willie died, it changed and is now even better. It now includes me with Willie. I am laying on a patch of the thick green grass, just a few inches from the water, and Willie, in a favorite position (his short paws tucked under him, his chest tucked under my arm and his chin up over my shoulder) is curled up next to me; we are resting together in the tranquility of the pristine setting. While I think the river took a little bit of me with it, the image brings a comforting sense of stillness and peace.

I was blessed to be at home with Willie during the last three months of his life. The time was a blessing in many personal ways. I was filled with a new peace and confidence in life and in God that I had previously not felt. Beyond that, I have learned, through meditation and prayer, how to simply “be,” though I do have to work at it at times. I am profoundly saddened over the loss of Willie, and I am profoundly blessed to have had those last three months, day in and day out, with him. I have 17 years of joyful memories to cherish and will always love him.

Writing these words has been a comfort to my spirit.