Om, Thankee, Thankee, Thankee.
Petey Sellers knew Sanskrit. Okay, he probably knew Sansrkit the same way he knew English, which was very much and only in my mind since he was a dog. But when he showed up during meditation last week and changed my mantra, I wasn’t surprised. Anyone who’s been reading the past few years knows that Petey was a big talker, so you’re probably not surprised, either. But this message was particularly good.
It happened during the Cave of the Heart meditation, the one where I go inside the cave of my heart and place something on the altar, receive what’s there, or both. The cave looks different for everyone, but mine has always looked like the little chapel with the green door I visited on a hike in the hills of Chur, Switzerland. Inside, there’s a stone table with a candle in the middle, always burning.
I was thinking about Petey that morning. It was almost twenty months since he passed, and he seemed to be around. I approached the altar and gasped – it was covered with photos of Petey! There were ones of him smiling, ones of us at the beach, in the backyard, on walks, and with friends, the two of us having fun through the years. All the eras of Petey. “Thank you, I said, internally. “Thank you for everything. You were the very best dog, and you’re still the very best dog. I miss you but am grateful to have had you in this life. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“That’s when I heard his little voice. “Thankee, thankee, thankee!” Petey said, and I laughed. In my mind’s eye, I grabbed a handful of photos and hugged them to my chest. My body felt warm. The chimes gonged. The candlelight burned brightly. I took a moment, pulled myself out of meditation, and put my hands in front of my heart for the closing. It was a combination of things I learned from my first yoga teacher, Sally, in my 20s, and many others over the years. Petey heard this closing thousands of times since we spent around 4,482 days together throughout his life. It started with “Om, Shanti, Shanti, Shanti,” and ended with “May everyone be free from suffering.” Om Shanti is a classic mantra in yoga. It’s a wish for peace in the body, mind, spirit, and world, and it never hurts to wish for peace, especially now. But when I went to sing it, other words flew out of my mouth, instead.
“Om, Thankee, Thankee, Thankee!” I sang loudly, surprising myself. I cracked up and sang it again. Petey! He wanted to be there and he was, as silly as ever. Forever the best.
It’s spring, the season of crushes, and I’ve had a few. First, it was Jeff, who looked like trouble. I’d gone for trouble before and I was finally finished with that. He was adorable, but his description on the site had red flags: “Mischievous, a bit of an escape artist, and a biter. But also a lover! Just needs that special person!” Luckily, Jeff’s person showed up, saving me the trouble. I could have handled Jeff, I was good with training, but I didn’t want a project, yet. Apparently, what I wanted was a Petey, though, because Jeff looked just like him.
After Jeff there was Quesadilla, another Petey lookalike who needed to be homed with another dog, so that saved me. Then there was litter after litter of Petey doppelgangers, mixed breeds made up of everything from boxer to corgi, chihuahua to shepherd/lab/pit. Petey was a mix of everything, a Cascade Brown dog, but he was also completely himself, a product of our life, together. I tried to fall for other dogs, but there was always one who looked like Petey. There was Lulu, but she was too big, and a ton of Sato Dogs, but they were all in New York. More recently, Norah tugged at my heart, even though she’s a bit big for me, and I’d like another boy. And then Yucca appeared, a gorgeous girl, but she looked way too much like Petey. I assume that when I fall in love with a dog who doesn’t look like Petey, it means I’m ready. But that strategy hasn’t worked, yet. How could I possibly love any other kind? But also, how could I look into another dog’s teardrop eyes and not hope that they’d be him? I’m a dog lover, so I wouldn’t actually expect that, but it seemed like an unfair way to start a new life together. Personality traits and similarities that show up like gifts? Yes! Doppelgangers with teardrop eyes? Probably no. But that’s okay! I’m not in a hurry. Crushes are fun. They’re opening my heart to possibilities. Why not revel in it, for a moment? Why rush the crush?
A white butterfly flew by as I was writing this. It’s the first one I’ve seen this year. I finally had a moment to sit at the dining table after a walk, open this document, and start writing. As soon as I did, the butterfly danced across the sky, in front of the window. The week before, I broke down, missing Petey. That hadn’t happened in months and suddenly, there it was, raw and unyielding. I was exhausted and cried every hour on the hour, tears that wouldn’t stop. As a balm to my heart, though, Petey showed up in the clouds on our evening walk. He showed up in an empty dog park so that my friend’s dog could run free, which was pure joy. He showed up in my dreams, thick, heavy, and unremembered, but lingering upon waking. He showed up as I hugged the panda and placed my head against his head like I used to do with Petey. Small intimacies don’t just disappear when a dog does, even after twenty months, so sometimes, you give in to them. “Slow down,” Petey said. “I’m here! I’m always here!”
During the day, I worked in his garden, letting my tears water the soil. It was beautiful, bathed in pink camelia blooms, but now they’d faded and needed to be cleaned up. As I cleared the space, returning plants poked out of the ground with delight. I’m still here, the daphne said. Well, hello again! The dancing hosta sang. Hihihihihi, the hellobore chanted. She’s been showing off for months, now. The yarrow showed up, and even the Solomon’s Seal, which I thought was gone forever. “Hi, friends!” I said, making room for them to grow. “Hi!” That’s the beauty of planting a garden in honor of a beloved. No matter what the weather brings, things come back. Deep freezes and heat domes, whipping winds and dropping limbs, plants are resilient. These plants, the ones in Petey’s garden, are resilient, too. Just like my love for him. Just like, as it turns out, my heart.
I’ve felt the pressure to change this space, to wrap things up with a tidy little bow with the “new dog” post, but life’s not like that. Grief isn’t like that. Some people need animals to move on, and others need lots of space, time, communication, and a place to write. This has been my space! This has been my place. And even though I’ve wanted to pivot sooner, grief, like writing, takes the time it takes. This post practically wrote itself, like they always do. As I send out one book and prepare to hop back into the mystery rom-com, the one with Petey in it, I keep some space open for him so I can still hear his voice. It’s faded and less frequent, but that’s a part of moving forward. One day you wake up and grief seems to let go of you. At least, that’s what it felt like to me. The hand that had been gripping me so tightly suddenly let go. I could almost see it, floating away, as I stayed here, rooted to the ground. Ancestors move on, too. We have things to do in this life and the next one. But they’re always here when we need them.
When I open the former manuscript again, I know the voice I created while he was still alive, the one I heard, will be there. I wrote almost an entire draft while he was still alive. I know the energy will be there, too. That’s how it is when you have a story to tell and you hold it inside of you, thinking about it, on some level, all the time, even when you’re not actively working on it. It’s still there, waiting to be born. Except for my first book, I’ve written every one of my books with Petey by my side. Many will be revised without him, but so far, he was always there for part of it, for all of them. Dogs wake us up to living in a way that stays open, forever. Petey did that for me. Together, we created the writer’s life, a calling and a canine, wrapped into one.
Om, thankee, thankee, thankee.
Along with wishing for peace, like Petey and I did every morning, we also sent out gratitude. It was for the world, but it was also for us. We were thanking each other for each other, which was its own special kind of peace. I said it thousands of times when he was alive but didn’t realize its full meaning until recently. And I know it’s corny to say it, but it’s true: I’m incredibly grateful that I did.
Shout-outs!
LOVE IS A BURNING THING by Nina St. Pierre!
Nina is my good friend/writing sister whose powerful memoir comes out May 7th. You can pre-order it, here!!!! Michelle Tea calls it “a spectacular, fearless memoir, written with real muscle and voice, guided by an electric eye for truth and compassion.” Yes! Get your hands on this beauty! Nina was good friends with Petey Sellers, too, so I know he gives it ten paws up. If you’re in New York, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, or L.A., catch her on tour in conversation with other great writers. Go, Nina!
Yeah, No. Not Happening by Karen Karbo. You need to subscribe to this because you need some wit in your life. No, really. Karen’s missives are hysterical and not to be missed, especially if you love all things French, expat stories, laughing, and saying “yeah, no” to all kinds of things. She also wrote some pretty great books. (She also worked with me to create her brand and website! Wink.)
Working with moi.
I never do this here, but I’m opening up my books for June, July, and August if you’d like to work with me. How, you may ask? I have over 20 years of experience in advertising, marketing, writing, and book stuff. I’ve done everything from writing a poem for Ken Nordine to perform, to creating a campaign for Match.com that went viral before viral was a thing, to working for conservation non-profits, helping authors find their voices and write their mission statements, and more. Interested but not sure what you need? Let’s talk. I love collabs.
As always, thank you for reading, sharing, subscribing, and being here. It means the world. What are you thankee for? Sound off in the comments!
