One Dog's Festivitas

Often, I write about nature. Today, I write in tribute to the miraculous Flo, who passed suddenly from our midst on July 3rd, 2024.

On June 29th, 2022, Flo came waddling out to greet me in the waiting room at the shelter. Before her rescue by these good people, she had been abused, confined, and overfed. She should have weighed just under forty pounds, but weighed seventy-five. She cringed at the sight of paper, at the sound of a raised voice, at the sight of a male person. Yes, she was very damaged. She still walked up to me, eyes glowing, and rested her chin in my hands. The bond was immediate and permanent. Flo looked directly into my soul, and loved me anyway.

Flo was not an easy dog. She barked at the door at walk time, a shrill staccato yip that she finally managed to reduce to warbling and singing. She would then race for the gate, and the process would start again. If there was a car ride as well . . . I think you see the pattern! On walks, my gentle Shay would pace at my side, while Flo twirled at the end of her leash like an ecstatic whirligig.

That was what defined her, and made her a joy--her jubilation, her celebration of every moment. Her festivitas. Was it time for coffee? Flo was going to watch! The composter needed emptying? Flo was on the way! Bed-time? Let's check the gate, the garden, the clothesline! For every trip I made to the garden with a load of water, Flo made ten, spinning around me, racing back and forth, her herding instincts in full play. Every moment, every act, was a celebration. For Flo, life was special, not a moment neglected.

Most of all, she was a teacher. In that first moment, she recognized and blessed my brokenness. An abuse survivor herself, she taught me that every abuse survivor is worthy of great love and that the love given by an abuse survivor is pure, not tainted. She was healing for me.

She loved her Shay, coaxing her from her own grief over the loss of her beloved mentor and guide, Mikak. She taught Shay to play again, to share again, to watch her dish when a hungry Border Collie was near.

She zipped everywhere, and those extra pounds fell away. She grew sleek and lithe.

Festivitas. Merriment and celebration. These were the gifts Flo brought to her home. And let us not forget dancing. Flo loved a good beat and would bark with enthusiasm, twirling in circles, giving herself a shake from head down to tail, ending in a little kick. She loved Jingle Bell Rock and The Tennessee Flat-top Box, 
and especially the spiritual I'll Fly Away. But it had to be sung with gusto. With festivitas.

On July 1st, 2024, she barked for her car ride to the Park. During the day, lameness set in. She had stumbled earlier; had she pulled something perhaps? It worsened and in the night we participated in a vet video consult; the gentle vet was concerned about neurological sources and urged us to get her to our family vet. The family vet in town sent us immediately to the Veterinary College for neurological assessment and surgery, a mere five hours away and we headed straight from our vet's office. Generous neighbours took over the care of Shay. That evening when we arrived, the neurological team met us with a gurney; neurological tests and CT scan were completed. Flo had now lost all use of hind limbs, and had no pain response. Surgery might go ahead if it would be helpful--and safe. But the progression was alarmingly fast.

On the morning of July 3rd, Flo was very weak, and the team recommended we take her home to say goodbye. I sat in the waiting room while they brought her out. She was very damaged. And somehow so small. She still walked up to me, eyes glowing, and rested her chin in my hands. Flo looked directly into my soul, and shared her strength.

We had a wonderful car ride at first, sharing the music, telling the stories. When I scooped her out and placed her on the grass, she flopped on her side, writhing, her legs refusing to obey. I knew what lay ahead, when the paralysis reached her chest. I made the call. 

I sang I'll Fly Away  as she passed, and sang it again over the beautiful grave overlooking her gate and her garden, the resting place my neighbours prepared. 

And when my time comes, do not be sad. Sing I'll Fly Away, please. Roar it out and dance and clap. 

For somewhere, a Border Collie and I will be dancing.

Forever Flo. Forever festivitas. Thank you for your gifts, dear friend.

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