Lucky Comes To Say Hello Again

Anyone past their first few years has experienced grief, many over a pet who's died or run away or disappeared.

I was in the throes of sadness and mystery over Lucky's disappearance and almost sure death to the coyotes who were roaming the hills near us when I was visited by a chance message of reassurance about Lucky's demise. 

I found a film to watch one evening last week on Netflix, Dean Spanley  that spun a great yarn about a minister who could, with the help of a special brandy, recall his former life as a dog. He demonstrates how dogs think and what about, but most importantly for me, how death is perceived by an animal as one only more new sniff in the air, another over to run across, no pain whatsoever. 

This message is one I was desperately in need of, but I never dreamed of hoping for the elegant, poetic and heartwarming balm this movie delivered.

Here is a poem from Mary Oliver that comes to me also by surprise and as quietly this foggy, damp morning as Lucky used to appear beside me just to say hello.

The First Time Percy Came Back

The first time Percy came back

he was not sailing on a cloud.

He was loping along the sand as though

he had come a great way.

"Percy," I cried out, and reached to him--

those white curls--

but he was unreachable. As music

is present yet you can't touch it.

"Yes, it's all different," he said.

"You're going to be very surprised."

But I wasn't thinking of that. I only

wanted to hold him. "Listen," he said.

"I miss that too.

And now you'll be telling stories

of my coming back

and they won't be false, and they won't be true,

but they'll be real."

And, then, as he used to, he said, "Let's go!"

And we walked down the beach together.