Murdock was my best friend, my roommate, my partner. And he was my child. No, he was not human – but there isn’t a rule that a child of a human must also be a human. Your heart does not conduct a scientific study to decide who (or what species) to love or how to love them. It just loves. And some kind of magic or divine direction determines the how. Sometimes, it gets it wrong. But most of the time, as with our furry soulmates, it is perfectly, wonderfully right.
As they grow up, many people dream about the day when they will have (human) children. Not me. My only dreams were for a dog – I waited 30 years for Murdock. When I laid eyes on that little black puppy, something inside of me changed. In an instant, I knew that that little creature, the embodiment of my lifelong dream, was the most important soul I would ever love. He was, in fact, my heart walking around outside of me, on legs that were too long for his still small body.
In the days after we met, my life was rearranged in a way I didn’t anticipate. Yes, I knew that I would have to walk him, and feed him, and train him. But I was wholly unprepared for how deeply I wanted to do those things for him. I relished teaching him about the world; I showed pictures of him to anyone who would indulge me; I was filled with pride when he met someone new. My life took on a happiness, a purpose, I had never experienced before.
As with any mother, Murdock’s well-being was always my north star. A storm? I had get home because he was scared. A limp? I had to find the very best medical care. Was he bored? I had to dance, or sing songs I made up, or play sensory games I had researched. Was his food the best? Was he taking the proper supplements? Did he have enough squeaky toys? Did he love me? (This was always uncertain as his regular expression mirrored that of a teenage eye-roll). He came first, unconditionally, wholly, and without a second thought.
When he grew older, and became weaker, and then more un-well, the caretaking part of mothering kicked into high gear, as did the worrying part. Fortunately, all of the years of joy-filled purpose I had found in being Murdock’s mom gave me strength for the very toughest parts of being the mother of a furry soulmate. There are few things more difficult for a mom than watching her child endure hardship. It can only be love that gets you through.
Being Murdock’s mom was my greatest joy – and the deepest, truest purpose I have felt. That is why Mother’s Day can be difficult. Those of us whose furry soulmate has departed are left as moms unable to mother. Mother’s Day reminds us of our life’s greatest role – but also that we no longer fill it. Maybe one day, this day will lose the bitter and keep the sweet. I am not there yet. But, I am forever grateful to be Murdock’s mom. Happy Mother’s Day.
