Content warning: injured dog, sad owner.
My dog Bella is a 4-year-old golden cavoodle and the first (and best) dog I’ve ever had. Before we adopted her I’d heard the cliché ‘man’s best friend’, but never known the pure joy of that human-canine connection (I would’ve confidently told you I was a Cat Person). In fact, Bella is everyone’s best friend and there’s nothing she enjoys more than cuddles (well, maybe chicken).
We’d had a very smooth run with Bella health-wise, but last Wednesday night I sat next to her on the bed – something I’ve done a million times before – but misjudged the distance and sat on her hind leg, resulting in a very distressed reaction from her. I’m still not 100% sure how it all went so wrong so quickly, but a dash across town to the after-hours vet (these things always happen after hours) confirmed she had a dislocated hip. The vet tried to set it but wasn’t confident he’d succeeded. The past week has been spent nursing her at home, with her mostly sleeping through the pain medication, and sadly a follow up exam today revealed that the hip is still dislocated and she needs surgery :-(
So for a week I’ve had the distress and guilt of not only knowing my beloved dog is badly hurt, but that I caused her pain. I haven’t gone for any swims at all, partly because my time and energy has been focussed on her, but also as a sort of punitive act of contrition. I didn’t feel I deserved to do anything pleasurable. I haven’t even walked down to the beach, because usually I would do that with Bella. Instead, I’ve spent a lot of time glued to the couch working on my laptop next to my sleeping dog, and only seeing the ocean through my swim groups’ photos in the various WhatsApp/Facebook channels.
But today Bella was at the vet getting her x-ray done and this entire day has been wonderfully sunny and warm (for late autumn), with only a faint northerly breeze. It feels like a while since we had a day this good; the type of day you can hang washing out and it will actually dry, and you can potter around doing all the other little outdoor jobs we save for nice days. So when I had a few minutes to spare, I put on my togs and headed to the beach. I ambled over the sand and into the cold water, feeling quite shaky from all the stress and sleep deprivation of the past week. The tide was out, so my stumbling, awkward entry took a minute or so as I sloshed through knee-deep water.
Once in, I thought I might have a cathartic bawl – after all, no one was remotely close to me in this giant expanse of water on autumn’s final day – but it didn’t happen. Instead my shaking turned to tingling, and I felt my hands through the water growing stronger, more purposeful. I dipped my goggled face under the surface and looked at little tufts of sea lettuce floating around, all the stones and small shells embedded in the sand, and felt the world much bigger than myself. There were even a couple of late-season moon jellies gliding around.
When I came up to breathe, my breaths were slower, longer. Calmer. A faint half-moon hung in the sky, surrounded by a world of blue.
*
Last week, pre-dog injury, an artist I follow on Instagram called Ann Skelly posted a video of a new painting she’d finished (here is the link, although I think you need an Insta account to see it) called ‘Within Reach’. I’ve been admiring Ann’s work for a while – she’s a New Zealand artist who paints the sea – and this one immediately ‘spoke’ to me. It sparked joy, as Marie Kondo puts it. Ann’s works tend to be snapped up so I impulsively contacted her gallery and said I’d buy it! I’ve purchased artist prints before but I think this is my first painting. It reminds me of that glorious moment of stepping into the sea on a clear day, the shimmery seafloor beneath the glittering, rippled surface. The tantalising promise of it all.
Anyway, the painting arrived today but languished for several hours in its box while I drifted around with my glum thoughts. But after my soul-soothing swim I cut the box open and there it was, Ann’s beautiful painting. Bouncing water, dancing light. Sometimes happiness, or at least contentment, is within reach if we just allow ourselves to let it in.
What a sweetheart. Accidents can really throw us out of whack. What a beautiful painting, love your description of it too.
Oh Shona, poor Bella, poor you. We are so connected to our pets that their pain is always our pain.
Swimming was probably the perfect thing to do to relieve the angst.
I do hope she'll be okay and by association, you too. Let us know...