Courage to Love

I met my love when I was living in a small village in Mexico.  One day the local vet asked me if I would take a dog for the summer. She was returning to the US for several months and needed someone to look after this stray she had been minding. I was reluctant. I had left everything I knew and loved and had moved to this small village to heal. I thought that healing meant just taking care of myself. I had spent most of my life taking care of everything but myself and it was time to focus on me. A dog was something I would need to take care of and I wasn't up for that.

I ended up saying yes and "Gimpy" as they called him, because of a leg injury, was dropped at my door with 20 lbs of dog food the very next day.  I wish I could tell you it was love at first sight but it wasn't. He was shaggy and scrawny. He had fleas and worms. He was lethargic and spent most of his days looking for the coolest tiles in the house to lay his head.  I accepted him and knew I would take good care of him, but I also knew he was going back to Pamela as soon as she returned to Yelapa. I didn't need the hassle of  dog in my life.  

There was no doubt he was smart, but not smart enough to fawn all over me. I was, after all, his meal ticket. He didn't seem to care. He did what he pleased when he pleased. I was somewhat incidental to him. Most of the Mexican dogs will do backflips if you show them some attention, learn to scrub your floor if you give them some food.

A day after Gimpy became "mine" I felt something stir.  My heart was opening and I was giving it freely to this dog. I bathed him and gave him flea treatments. I spent 1/2 hour every morning massaging his joints, and a 1/2 hour brushing him every night. The more I did for him the more I loved him. I changed his name to "Guapo", which means handsome, because the more I loved him the better looking he became.  

I was reminded of all this today when I read an article in The Vancouver Observer. The article was called He Stunk to High Heaven. I loved Him Instantly. A woman named Kellie Ann met an English Bulldog in the pound. He was stinky and old and almost blind. He was bored by her. She took him home and loved him anyway. She wrote, "About twenty baths cleaned him up and his hair mostly grew back in. He snored like a drunk and farted like a sailor." He died four years after she adopted him. I was sobbing as I finished the article. I was in awe of this woman who adopted a dog knowing she wouldn't have him for long. I couldn't imagine myself being brave enough to adopt an old dog, knowing that heart-ache would be just around the corner.

What touched me about this story is that this woman loved that dog not for what he could give her, but because he was there to be loved. It reminded me of my experience with Guapo and I realized in reading this article that up until Guapo I had been afraid to love again. I had moved to Yelapa done with men and done with dogs. Loving both had broken my heart. 

Loving is scary. It is not for the weak of heart. If love can promise anything it is that it will break you open at some point. I'm sure Kellie Ann's heart broke when Chester died only four years after she adopted him. And I know my heart will break when Guapo dies one day. I also know that loving him has enabled me to love more. I met my husband in that same small village shortly after adopting Guapo. And that has already broken my heart. I hurt when he is hurting. I feel his pain as if it's my own. I fear the day that we'll have to say goodbye to each other, if we are lucky enough to get that chance. But I know now that no matter how short-lived it may be, it is worth all the courage it takes to love - both my dog and my man.