Speaking Personally: Panda

There is a dog-loving gene in my family that must have skipped me. That is how, despite growing up around many dogs who were considered family members, I never really loved any dog -- until I knew Panda. Long-time readers of this column will perhaps remember Panda’s first appearance in these pages. I last wrote about her when she was about six months old after her first triumphant fight with a coyote. 

 

Panda was our livestock guardian, an imposing and noble, yet gentle, beast who never hurt a chicken or child. To coyotes, coons, bobcats, and armadillos on the North Fork, however, she was a ferocious threat. In the five years she has stood guard over our little homestead, we never lost a bird. These woods seem so much wilder now. We lost Panda last week after a brief, devastating illness. 

 

It was a stunning blow in an otherwise trying week. I was crying everywhere I went. Apologies to every kind soul who asked about Panda and met my falling tears and quivering voice with mute sympathy.

 

Losing a beloved dog, I now know, is an intensely personal pain. Unlike the people I’ve lost, Panda had not lived a long life or won the respect or admiration of anyone outside our family. Her winning ways were known and loved by us alone. 

 

She was like a family mascot. She was our pet. 

 

Our 19-month-old daughter doesn’t say “dog” yet. She says “Panda.” All dogs are Panda. I wonder how much longer that will last. 

 

I wonder how many more times I will walk outside and look around for Panda before reality intrudes. I had not known it was my habit to look for her immediately after stepping on the porch. Like the love and respect I felt for her, the practice crept up slowly over the last five years. 

 

It leaves behind an aching void. Having felt this only once in my 38 years, I hope never to meet it again. Still, I can see this pain is a gift. It means we had something worth losing.

 

To the dog-lovers among us, I am closer to understanding you than I ever have been before. I’m not ready to sneak a poodle into a wedding photo, as my grandfather once did. But what was formerly only empathy, is now sympathy. 

 

The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.