The Strange Power
“Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.”
―
Yesterday marked six months to the day that our beloved dog, Bonnie, died in her sleep. I don’t ponder it as much as I once did, but each time I remember the moment that I realized Bonnie was gone, I feel as if I have been kicked in the stomach. The sense of her being stolen from us is as raw and punishing as it was half a year ago. My grief for my dog caught me by surprise. I never expected to mourn an animal the way I did Bonnie.
But neither did I expect what happened two months ago when Jinx mysteriously arrived at our farm. In the short stretch of weeks that he’s been with us, this rambunctious, spastic, infinitely curious spotted dog has managed to help ease the grief and point towards the future.
Fool that I am, I’ve gone and done it. I’ve allowed myself to come to care for a dog again, and I’ve done it fully understanding how this will end someday. But it’s a worthy risk, one I assume gladly. I come home from a day spent in the presence of people who do not care about me, people who exhibit some of the basest, coarsest, and most unseemly behavior imaginable, I get out of the car and see that little face light up with canine glee, knowing that at that moment I am Jinx’s entire world, and all the ugliness melts like ice in rain.
I believe I am a more complete man because Bonnie shared her life with us. Her death scarred me. But the scars serve their purposes. And I look at leaping, grinning Jinx and I know that more scars will be coming. But that’s the deal. I accept it.
~ S.K. Orr
