Can any of you believe it? It’s been two entire years since they hacked my leg off. It’s pretty telling that the first two years of my life were way worse than the last two. Don’t get me wrong, the last two have been a challenge, but at least they were full of love (and no brooms, thank goodness). It’s been a fantastic sort of alchemy, really. For all of us. I’ve transformed from a big fat ‘fraidy cat with four legs to a saucy, smiley, swimming, macho dude with only three. I’d way rather be who I am now. My Mom has transformed from somebody who didn’t believe in anything to someone who believes in me. Even my Dad has changed from a tough guy into a big old softy. The other day I heard him say he’d take a bullet for me and he wouldn’t even think twice.

Miracles are wondrous things.

What’s most important in all of this is how none of us ever gave up, even when we were all but promised that it wouldn’t end well. My Mom gave me so many chances only considering my well being, and nothing else. My Dad has been here for me through everything; changing dressings, helping me walk, being that 4th leg when I need it, taking me to the driving range nearly every day, and lifting me into the truck. Don’t forget, I still weigh 115 pounds, so that’s a big gift.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve always known I was here for a bigger purpose than being a dog. For some reason when I got dumped at the pound, it was supposed to be my Mom who adopted me. Have I mentioned that she was second in line, and the first person didn’t want me? If that’s not the definition of “meant to be”, I don’t know what is. For some reason I’ve had all of these health problems and we’ve had to make a lot of tough choices. What if my Mom hadn’t picked me that day? Who knows where I’d be, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be blogging right now.

Even more important, is where would she be? Before me, she didn’t believe in much of anything. But after watching me refuse to quit and seeing me beat the odds again and again, somehow hope and faith got the best of her. She says she’s a better person because of me. Isn’t it incredible what can happen when you act without expectations?

She knows that I’m not going to be around forever, but she’s also grown to understand that forever isn’t defined by years; it’s defined by memories. Memories we wouldn’t have if I hadn’t gotten dumped, and she hadn’t picked me, and if I hadn’t gotten sick, and hurt, and sick again. Memories that wouldn’t exist without chances and hope and love. Memories that have transformed and enlightened and knitted together the broken parts inside of us. 

It’s been two years since my leg got cut off, but it’s been eight years of love and renewal. My leg is the last thing on my mind. I’ve still got lots of teaching to do. My humans aren’t as enlightened as I am. Yet. But I’m working on it.

 
Alchemy. Transformation. Passage. Every day, I can make a difference, no matter how small. Every day I can give something, no matter how slight. In the end, that small thing just may be what saves them.

“From what we get, we can make a living; what we give, however, makes a life.” Arthur Ashe