He jumped down from the back of Chad’s truck. I stepped back, and let out a nervous laugh. The pictures hadn’t prepared me. You wouldn’t describe him as beautiful. He
was awkward. His bluish-gray gigantic head rested upon his broad shoulders, as his wide-set brown eyes and drooling jowls overshadowed his tiny waist. He resembled a prehistoric beast.
Chad moved from North Carolina to work in our family business, and we agreed to adopt Dink due to the ban in Denver. As an experienced Pit Bull owner, I know they make great family dogs, but he was on a trial basis. I wasn’t sure he’d stay.
It didn’t take long to discover that behind his intimidating physique, there was an endless pool of love. His heart was bigger than his head. He provided comfort when my beloved senior French Bulldog transitioned a few weeks later. It seemed destined for him to be a part of our family.
Imprisoned in a cage, his early years were tallied by the pink markings on his snout and chin. Horrendous things happen in this world. Things that usually have the decency to remain at a safe distance.
A wireless fence kept our dogs in, but doesn’t keep stray animals out. Dink didn’t like strange male dogs on his territory. After watching one mark all over our property, I can’t say I care for them either as they’re rude. There were “incidents” involving other dogs. I wish I could say a couple, or a few, but there were a couple more than a few. Those ugly moments I keep hidden from the social media rose-colored lens, away from the judgment of others.
On a beautiful November morning, my daughter’s thirteenth birthday, the magic and expectations of the day’s plans came to an abrupt halt. Ceiro’s warning bark urged me outside. My neighbor, a woman I really like, held the leash of her German Shepherd/Chow mix. They stopped in their tracks. Dink was perched at his boundary, meeting Beau’s stare from across the road. Ceiro wouldn’t stop barking, I moved toward Dink. He then broke the barrier to get to his perceived threat.
In my feeble attempts to get Dink to release, Beau bit me. Multiple times. These two had a past. Beau was the first dog Dink chased off. After exhausting every possible option, an emotionally detached man did what needed to be done. Dink was gone. Beau would recover; my body will heal. There will be scars.
Life can be messy. Loved ones disappoint, problems arise, and sometimes, the unimaginable happens. Through it all, I have found that my attachment, or belief, that things need to look or be a certain way blinds me. When I have the awareness to step aside and detach, then I am able to observe, feel and be present. In that place, the bigger picture is reveled.
Dink gave me the opportunity to look below the surface. To see beyond the wounds, where the true beauty of a loving spirit can be found. His decision to go out on his own terms freed him from his suffering. He no longer carries the puppyhood trauma, or the physical deterioration from hip dysplasia. His beautiful unencumbered spirit is free.
Free to flow through the crisp autumn air and land as a ladybug in my lap, as I sat in a boat, floating in the middle of Chatfield Reservoir three days later. Through this gift, I was assured that everything, including his horrific departure, is in divine order. Everything is beautiful.
After all, in the damaged imperfection our true beauty shines.