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The Soul of the Matter

Fred’s reading ignited a profound understanding. It is something that everyone realizes at a certain level, but we do not often think hard on. Animals have souls. All animals and certainly all dogs are not just dependent on us humans, but they are entrusted to our protection. This is a sacred responsibility.

It is also an obligation that returns infinite rewards; indeed, it is a bargain made in Heaven. The Big Bang in our relationship with dogs is the gift of their unconditional love. This priceless treasure is on top of many other offerings: their steadfast dedication to us and our families; the daily walkabouts and outdoor adventures; endless poignant, sometimes fun and funny moments strung across the timelines of our pets’ lives.

And there is still a deeper purpose in our relationships with dogs—one I did not grasp until Osea. I remember the first moment the bundle of black-and-white fur was set into my arms. The Newfoundland puppy took one look at me and her tail took off. In her excitement, she peed all over me.

Extremely curious, Osea explored everywhere she went with the thoroughness of a seasoned detective. No trash can, vertical pole, or new territory was passed without close inspection. Osea’s favorite thing in the world was visiting the beach picnic grounds the day after holidays, where she pranced happily ahead, sniffing out each overflowing trash can, sitting impatiently when she found something for me to fish out for her.

On our near-daily two-mile hikes into town, reveling in her freedom from a leash, Osea routinely sauntered into yards and garages, checking out these crowded spaces, searching interesting scents.

One time she walked from the open garage into a neighbor’s house. The owner’s scream met Osea’s surprised and uncertain woof, the sound of confusion at discovering anyone might be afraid of her. The owner’s laughter followed.

Osea had little respect for authority and rarely followed rules. Able to clear a five-foot-high fence in a graceful leap, no barrier kept her from a daily survey of our neighborhood. These excursions usually involved proliferating loot from other neighborhood dogs. She regularly returned home with bones, balls, and toys, and for no reason I could ever figure out, masking tape.

I loved Osea’s extreme gentleness. She treated old people and toddlers with a consciousness of movement and care that impressed everyone who witnessed it. We entertained a lot and, without fail, this gentle giant knew who in our party didn’t like dogs, and the unfortunate person became Osea’s target for the whole evening.

A friend once gave Osea a kitten named Caper, and unlike my other dogs who tolerated but never liked cats, the affection Osea held for her cat melted hearts. Caper and Osea played like two puppies for hours on end. The cat followed us on our walks and though at first this concerned me, Caper ending up miles from home, he never did get lost. Every night Caper slept against Osea’s heart.

That dog delighted in pulling neighborhood kids in a wagon. Whenever I didn’t have time to walk her, I handed her leash and harness to whichever kids were playing outside. I think these were Osea’s happiest memories.

Some dogs are born comedians, and Osea was one of these. She often made us laugh, and then, studying the sound of our hilarity, she inevitably repeated whatever it was that triggered the happy sound.

Once, Osea and I were in a large group of 50 or so people at a park watching the sunset. A lady, wearing a poodle skirt right out of the Fifties, bent over to drink from a water fountain. Osea’s head disappeared under her skirt, checking out what was happening there.

Witnessing this, the crowd erupted with laughter.

The lady stood back up and tried to ascertain the cause of the uproar, but Osea pulled back just in time and stood staring back at the lady in a startling pretense of innocence.

Unable to see anything amiss, the lady returned to the fountain.

Right on cue, Osea popped back under the skirt.

The crowd laughed even harder.

True to the Newfoundland breed, Osea understood her greater purpose was to rescue . . . well, anyone. Just a puppy herself, we were at the edge of the ocean in Dana Point Harbor, where dozens of excited Labs and golden retrievers swam and retrieved balls and sticks from the water. A woman screamed as her Boston terrier puppy somehow fell in deep water and began sinking. The dogs froze and stood staring, their heads cocked as if to say, “What the heck is that puppy doing out there?” Osea rushed into the water, swam to the little guy, slipped her nose under him, and carried him back to shore.

Everyone applauded, and the owner starting crying. Tail high, pleased with herself, Osea might have taken a bow.

Another time at the beach, a young mother and her two toddlers were having a picnic. One little guy went one way, while his brother went the other way, and the mom leaped up to chase them down.

Noticing the unattended picnic basket, seagulls swooped in and lifted three sandwiches in zip lock bags into the sky. Osea knew the treats did not belong to the feathered thieves, and she barked until they dropped their loot about 30 yards out at sea.

The mother turned to see what had happened and almost cried. I asked Osea to retrieve the sandwiches. She swam promptly to the location and retrieved one, then the other, and finally the third sandwich and carried them back. She deposited them at the mom’s feet.

We frequently encountered rattlesnakes on our long hikes. Osea always spotted the potential danger first, and she’d stop, sit, and stare at it until I followed her gaze, which allowed me to make a wide circle around it. This behavior contrasted with all my other Newfs, who spotted the snake, pounced, and killed it before I could even think to save it.

One blustery day, Osea and I were hiking a lonely trail in the Laguna Beach wilderness. There was no one for miles until I spotted an older woman walking toward us. We exchanged smiles as she passed but did not speak.

As she walked away, the lady suddenly called out to me, and I turned around to hear her words: “That dog was sent to help you through it.”

I stood there, trying to make sense of this, but the lady continued walking away. Help me through what? Once home, I recounted the curious comment to John.

“You must have misheard,” he said.

Soon thereafter, within the space of one tumultuous year, I lost John after 35 happy years of marriage, and then, 11 months later, our son Jonpaul died from an antibiotic-resistant infection.

They were the two brightest lights in my life. Osea was sent to help me through the tsunami of loss. Trust me on this: If you are walking in grief, you need a beloved dog at your side. Osea’s coat received thousands of tears.

Soon after Osea transitioned, my daughter Jaime and I were serendipitously asked if we would be interested in two Newfoundland puppies from an accidental breeding. We both realized Spirit had arranged this massive infusion of joy and excitement to help continue healing our broken hearts. Jaime named her unusually large puppy Beluga Baby, and I named mine Paris, because I had always wanted to go live in Paris and instead, I got her, so she became my Paris. As it turned out, Paris had a rather serious level 5 heart murmur and was not expected to live long. I wisely decided it didn’t matter. Paris was a gift, and Spirit does not make mistakes.

These puppies did ease the weight of our grief. Almost every day, we took a kayak out onto the big blue, with Paris and Beluga Baby swimming alongside us. One adventure followed another. Many of these adventures involved sea lions and dolphins, all of whom were curious about these four-legged creatures swimming with such ease and grace.

Osea’s life-saving role, and later the miracles Paris brought to my life, hints at our companions’ true purpose—a purpose all dogs hold sacred: While we are endlessly rewarded for joining our lives with these special beings, dogs are in service to us.