Wednesday, October 5, 2005

Collins

Commentary by JoEllen Collins


By JOELLEN COLLINS

JoEllen Collins

I hadn't intended to add my comments to the abundance of words about the recent catastrophes along the Gulf Coast, but the illness of my dog has, oddly, inspired in me a need to do so.

Anyone who has lived as long as I have knows the meaning of loss. If we are lucky enough to still be standing, we have probably seen our parents and some other family and friends leave this world too soon. We most likely have gone through economic difficulties, illness, marital traumas, or any of the stresses of parenting or other relationships. As most of my readers know, I have mourned the early loss of parents and a sister, said goodbye to all of my family history and possessions in a fire, survived the Northridge earthquake, and somehow accepted the absence of a fulfilling, long-term marriage. I want to carry all my friends and family with me on a long chain so I can contact them at any time, but life has taught me that absence and loss are inevitable.

The other day someone complimented me on my white hair, which some think I pay for through a professional bleach job. My sardonic reply was that I did pay for it: It's called grief.

So when I read of the accounts of people who have lost everything, I can identify. There is a major difference, though, between the devastation so many have experienced in the recent hurricanes and floods and what I experienced. I was fortunate to be given the skills to earn a living wherever I landed: teaching and writing have gotten me through many a tough spot. And the fire occurred while I was young—young enough and with a fabulous support system of friends and family who still had homes and resources—to overcome the destruction of all I had. Many of these hurricane victims have lost even the means to start again, in many cases: homes and jobs and, in some cases, the social ties of a town and community, which I still had even despite the charred remnants of my home.

Some of the most affecting images from the Gulf states were of families wrenched from their pets, or the pets themselves trying to survive. My heart went out in all sorts of schmaltzy ways every time I thought of a bewildered dog or cat bereft of the usual human connections pets rely on.

My dog Oscar (of the now-closed Gallery Oscar), about whom I have often written, is facing surgery for a bad disk. The little critter that delighted in Jack Russell escapism, chasing foxes under buildings and making me chase him on freezing winter mornings, can no longer climb stairs or jump up to inappropriate places. He's the same little guy who kept me up all night after a door in my condominium blew open. One night the Elkhorn Saloon called on a late Saturday night and said, "Lady, it's last call. Your dog is bellying up to our bar!" A sign of his despair is that the other day a workman left the front door ajar and Oscar just stared at the space, which once would have enticed him to flee.

I am hoping, of course, that my 10-year-old love will thrive from the surgery to once again make me distraught with his friskiness! He may still have a few vital years left of bounding through fields. I read Betty Bell's column last week with great empathy for her Jack Russell's injury. And, as I left for a long-planned reunion in Hyde Park, N.Y., and a few days with my college roommate in Manhattan, I felt like I'd left a sick child behind. I am lucky to have help in this period, but the heartstrings tug anyway. Oscar can't tell me where it hurts, and I can't tell him I think it will be OK. My dog-loving friends remind me that a dog's life is short and that we need to treasure our pets while they are here, but the loss right now is horrendous to contemplate. My feelings about Oscar's mortality, of course, are those about all life. It is short and we must treasure it while we can.

May the lost doggies of New Orleans find people to care for them and may people find the love of pets to get them through. And may Oscar, now retired from gallery duties, find his retirement as happy as mine. I need him.




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