Last Updated: Friday - 09/24/2010
Week of January 27, 2003
Kimo brought soul to my daily life
By LASHA MORNINGSTAR
The pink collar and green leash sit on the passenger seat of my car. And the still full bowl of food and water bucket are on the kitchen floor.
But there is no Kimo.
My beloved dog is dead.
She had heart failure on a Saturday afternoon and on Monday morning, they found a huge mass in her stomach that had attached itself to her liver and kidneys.
I held her in my arms as she was put to sleep at 3:45 that afternoon.
The angels came for her and I know she is racing through the heavenly gardens with Jacob, her Old English sheepdog companion who died three years ago.
I know traditional Catholic teaching says little, if anything, about the souls of animals. But I could quote the holy father's public statement on animals' souls Jan. 19,1990 as cited in The Ark, a publication of the Catholic Study Circle for Animal Welfare.
But I will not. For I know Kimo has soul -- lots of it.
She came from the SPCA. An Old English/Airedale cross, the vet estimated her age to be between two to three years old. She was starving and had suffered horrific abuse.
I had no right to expect she would turn into a loving companion. But she did. She went everywhere with me, sitting in the passenger seat, watching the world with disconcerting perception.
Smart. Funny. Patient.
She knew my heart but loved me anyway.
Now Kimo's gone. I miss her terribly and weep for her.
Our I-want-it-yesterday society does not allow time for grief. And when you are full of sorrow for a pet, many find it all a tad hysterical.
But Kimo gave me unconditional love when I needed it, structure to my day with her daily walks and an attitude of peace to my life.
The new snow filled in her paw prints. But I still start up in bed each morning, ready to bound out from the warm covers to walk her.
The worst is coming home to the achingly empty house at night.
Kimo came to me already named. It is Native American and means friend.
She was indeed my friend.
And my grief is softened only by knowing we shall go for walks again.
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