We are ruled by dual masters, and in my case, they rarely agree. My time with Jim has been punctuated by countless quiet, painful battles between my heart and my mind, especially his last few years when he was in and out of hospice care.
I met him as an old, strange community dog in Costa Rica with numbered days, so I don't think either of us expected a long, or especially deep, relationship. But love often sneaks up on us, and if we are lucky, our intellect still gives way to passion. This is what happened to us.
The arc of our attachment had a lot to do with external factors. I was determined to not bond too deeply, since, from the beginning, I knew he only had a few months to live. Then somewhere around the fourth or fifth time he had a medical crisis in which the doctor gave him only a few months, I began to feel as if my hardy Jim, who kept surviving the unsurvivable, might, in fact, never leave me. So I fell in love with this dog and his quirky hound-dog behavior. He became a guidepost for me, and the fact that he'd chosen me increased my net worth substantially.
Here is how it all began ... well, this is not really how it all began. Like so many of you, I can only imagine what my boy's life was like before I met him. I have reason to believe it was full of romping and play and that he was well-cared-for (if not well-loved). But at some point he became homeless. He, like many community dogs, seemed more at ease around other dogs than in the house with people. AT FIRST. Once he discovered things like pizza and dog beds, he began to fulfill his true destiny: to be a house-potato.
I met Jim, sick and emaciated, six years ago on a trip to a small village in Costa Rica, where he blocked my way on the sidewalk, looked me in the eye, and howled -- the most mournful sound I've ever heard. Old, starving, toothless, raw from mange, with a big gross tumor on his belly -- I'd never seen anyone more pitiful.
Continue reading Saying goodbye to the ultimate survivor.











