The Capacity to Love

One year ago today, we brought Ziggy into our family.  What we wanted was a herding dog to help Outdoor Guy with the pheasants.  What we got was a herding dog and an amazing family dog that we all love dearly.

Even me.

It’s not that I’m not an animal person.  Quite the opposite.  I’m a huge animal lover, especially dogs.  But after having to have my dog Hoops put down after 13 years together, my heart just wasn’t all that excited about a puppy.

Hoops was my best buddy.  He took care of me and protected me and loved me before there was an Outdoor Guy to do that.  And when I had to euthanize my best fluffy buddy, it felt like a little piece of my heart died with him.  I understood Outdoor Guy’s need for a dog to help him with the pheasants.  But opening my heart to another dog seemed disrespectful to the big yellow dog that had been so damn loyal for so long.  And besides, my temperament was more suited to giant, lovable goofball dogs, not border collies.  They can be a little aloof.  High strung.  Neurotic.

Ziggy is all those things at times.  And more.  He chewed up the stems on our pumpkins.  He howls at tumbleweeds blowing down the road.  He eats feathers and poop and barks at vases of flowers.

But in twelve months with the Zigganator, I have warmed to him.  Or rather, he has thawed my heart with his sweet puppy kisses, love of cuddling and soulful eyes.  His favorite place to be is in the pens with Outdoor Guy moving pheasants and keeping the farm running smoothly.  But lying at my feet while I edit photos or curled up in my lap on the couch is a close second.

And in those quiet moments together, I let my heart heal.  Ziggy hasn’t, and never will, replace Hoops.  But Ziggy has shown me that the human heart has an amazing capacity for love.  That we can grieve one and still give to another.  That there is room in our hearts for both joy and sadness, loss and happiness.

Hardening our hearts doesn’t make past hurts hurt any less.  Sure, we might protect ourselves some from future transgressions.  But we also miss out on the joy, the fun and the love.  Solitude will break us with its yearning, for we were built to love.

No pain sounds like a great plan until you realize it means no love, too.

I choose love.

–Teresa

“And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness.  Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”  Louise Erdrich