The Ultimate Pep Talk
On July 12th, I asked Petey Sellers what he wanted for me when he was gone.
It was after his cancer recheck exam, the one where we tried a third rescue protocol, knowing it might not work, but also knowing it had no side effects. Petey wasn’t feeling well, so if it didn’t work, we’d start a low dose of prednisone, a steroid to make him more comfortable. The previous weeks had been glorious – great weather and friends, long walks, and lots of outings – and the oncologist thought one more rescue was worth a shot. At this point, she said his prognosis was within the month, something we already knew, so our job was to keep him comfy which, currently, he was. I knew this time was coming and I was prepared for it. What I wasn’t prepared for was the way Petey’s voice came to me, loud and clear, once I’d settled us back in the office and started to work.
Mom, he said. I need to talk to you.
I paused, and then asked what came to me: Petey, what do you want for me when you’re gone?
What I didn’t know was that in a few days, it would feel like he was going. That I’d get a glimpse of my cat who had passed, Gigi, in the hall. That I’d dream about my grandmother standing on a cloud, tossing treats. That, in a few days, I’d be really glad we had this conversation. But at the time, I didn’t know any of that.
Petey, I repeated. What do you want for me when you’re gone?
His answers tumbled from him to me like he’d been preparing them his whole life, even though I know dogs don’t do that. They live in the moment. I looked down at his body, sprawled out and sleeping in his bed. He looked so comfy.
Well, he said. I hope you keep our routines. Meditate, Walk, Write, Work, Play.
I hope you have a Friday Night Dance Party in my honor.
I hope the Parade of Friends continues, but for you. I want the Parade of Friends to come to see you and keep you company when I’m gone. Also, dogs! The Parade of Dog Friends! Go on walks with them. I’ll make sure they cheer you up.
He paused, at least in my mind.
I want you to not fall apart, Petey said.
I mean, you can fall apart some, but not completely, and not for too long.
We’ve had the most wonderful life together, a life I could have never imagined when I was a puppy. Who knew I would have such a wonderful Mom and such a good, long life with you? I’m the luckiest dog who ever lived! Ever! And you’re the luckiest Mom! We’ve been together twelve years and counting!
He got quiet again, and I got real: screw cancer. Screw this. I didn’t want to be having this conversation, I wanted more. More time, trips, walks, all of it. And because he was my assistant editor, a writer’s dog, I really wanted to publish more while he was here. Petey, of course, read my mind and said the perfect thing.
You did publish more, Mom, he said, giving me a look even though he was asleep. You published all of these pieces about me! You’re still publishing me! Will you please, pretty please, write about me forever?
Yes, my friend, I said, smiling at his sweet, sleeping face. I’ll write about you forever.
He snored a little and smiled. The Petey Sellers Secret Society has much more to say. There’s all the material I wrote during chemo, remission, and relapse times; pages and pages I wrote just to process and comfort myself. But the main pep talk, the one Petey wants to share, always comes out in a burst. And then, as I’m editing, the ending always reveals itself, usually during meditation, and always from Petey. Lessons from my dog are the gift that keeps on giving.
Mom, you have to keep writing these essays, Petey said. Keep writing about me because for a while, that’s how we’ll connect. We’ll also connect in meditation, and maybe in other ways - you know I love surprises – so stay tuned! But when you write, whether it’s about me, or something else, know that I’m with you. I’m right there in the dining room, in the dog bed by your feet; I’m in the bed beside you; I’m waiting by the kitchen for food; I’m playing in the living room, tossing the panda; I’m staring at you so you’ll take a break; I’m on the couch at night, getting hugs, snuggles, and massages, the way you love me. The way you’ve always loved me. Most importantly, I’m in your heart, forever and ever. It got bigger to let me in, and it’s been growing ever since. Do you feel it?
I feel it.
Oh! Petey said. And I‘m on the lounge in the morning while you meditate. If I’m not too busy tossing a cosmic panda, I promise I’ll show up. Just connect like you always have. Look for me, and we can talk. That way you won’t feel so alone.
I know I’ll feel alone for a while. But I also know that with Petey, I became we. We became a family. Sometimes our family was bigger and sometimes it was smaller, but it’s always been the two of us against the world. In my case, a dog truly does make a life.
There’s room in your heart for more love, Petey said. I want you to love, again.
Of course, he wanted me to love again. The love I had for him was a cosmic, life-changing kind of love that also helped me to love myself and the world. Things like that don’t come around all the time, so it was special. But I was already feeling ready for more love, again, too. Careful, but in person. With all the people we’ve missed and loved. With new people we don’t even know we love, yet. All of it, ready and waiting.
You have so much love to give, Petey said. Maybe, when it’s time, I’ll send you someone. Another animal? Maybe another person! Maybe both! Stay tuned.
It’s my turn to ask you a question, I said. What are you most afraid of?
Nothing, he said. Well, I’m a little afraid of leaving you, because I know you’ll be so sad.
I’ll be sad, but I’ll be okay, I said. When it’s time, I’ll make sure to tell you it’s okay to go. But if I forget, or if it’s rushed, I’ll say it, now: when it’s time for you to go, you go. I don’t want you to suffer. I’ll be okay because you’ve shown me the way. And because you’ll always be in my heart.
Okay, he said. But he didn’t believe me, yet. Over the next few days, I knew I had some work to do to convince him. I had to make sure he knew that I’d be okay. And one of the reasons I will be okay is this, the Petey Sellers Secret Society, and all of you. I now have a place to continue what we started.
Mom, Petey said. What are you most afraid of?
I used to think I was most afraid of being alone, I said. But that’s not true, anymore. You’re never alone when you have yourself. If I’m honest, in the moments where fear wins out over love, I’m most afraid of not being with you. I’m afraid of the new day-to-day. The great unknown.
Petey woke up and looked up at me.
But it’s not unknown, he said. You keep connecting with people like you have been. Keep collaborating with others, keep your online friends, and make some new offline friends! Be in the world and let the world be with you like we have been, Mom. People weren’t just coming to see me. They were coming to see you, too. I may be people’s favorite dog, but you’re also so many people’s favorite person. Please, please, please, please don’t forget that. Go forth and be fabulous!
I exhaled, got up from the computer, sat down next to Petey, and petted him. His body will shift out of this world when it gets too worn out to be a physical thing and wants to be a soul, floating on, going to the next place. But I hope, if he can, that he sticks around in the ether for a while to help see me home, to the home where he lives inside of me instead of outside. A shift, a transition, a love that continues, but changes shape and form.
He will always, always be with me.
Petey, I said. Is there something else we’re supposed to do together? I have all of these things I wanted to do while you’re still here, to connect to you. But time feels short. Is there something else I should finish for us? In my mind, the answers were clear: a book to the next level, another book drafted, essays, drawings, and songs. But Petey had a different take.
Mom, he said. We’ve already done what we were supposed to do.
Was it to open my heart? I said. To teach me that I could talk to you? Was it to write books together? Because we’ve written quite a few. Was it that I need silence, but I also people? Or to realize that working all the time isn’t where it’s at for me, anymore? You really helped me with that.
Yes and no, Petey said, smiling at me. Really, the only thing we were supposed to do in this life, in my life, was to be together.
He raised his head and looked at me with his beautiful teardrop eyes and eyeliner, that face that’s never seen a neglected day in its life, at least, not since I got him. Sometimes, these pep talks come in the form of my wishes for him, but most of the time, Petey is giving me the pep talk.
He doesn’t need an award for being a cancer warrior or a ribbon for being brave, even though I make those for him, he gets all the awards in the universe simply for existing. For being here. For giving all he has all the time and shining his light so brightly that it will never truly go out.
In true Petey fashion, that’s the message he wants for us, too. You don’t have to beat cancer or do all the things on your list to get an award. Like him, you get an award just for being here, for showing up and being yourself. The world loves you, exactly as you are. And Petey Sellers says you know what? You get an award for that.
It was time for him to go outside, which would end the conversation, this magical moment. Except I knew this wasn’t the end. Not only will we talk more tomorrow and in the coming weeks, but we’ll also talk every day once he’s gone, at least for a while. Because the ones we love never truly leave us, they just change forms.
I want to be a rainbow! Petey said, reading my mind again. A flower, a big shady tree you can sit under. That’s another thing! I want you to plant a tree!
In your honor? I said.
Yes! he said. Even though you might not live here forever, I want a garden, and for you to plant a tree for me. Ooh! And I want a plaque or something that says I Was Here.
But you are here, I said. You’ll always be here.
I know, he said. But maybe it’s not just for me.
Petey Sellers hopped up and looked at me, wagging his tail, being the funny, silly, joyous dog he’s always been, one hundred percent himself.
Plant the tree, Mom, he said, wiggling his butt. I’ll pee on it from the sky.
I laughed and hugged him. If Petey was going to give me his last wishes, he was going to do it with humor and heartache in the same breath. He did it in a way that I could hear it, and in plenty of time for me to process it and let it sink in. He told me so that I could have it for myself, and share it with you, the poignancy that comes from being alive and letting go. Petey Sellers has always known best. He wants us to go forth and blaze our own special trails, holding our tails and award ribbons high.
It’s unconditional love. And that’s the ultimate pep talk.
“Petey Sellers Is The Very Best Dog,” the song I made up for Petey in 2020 and played almost every day the first year of the pandemic. We’ve started playing it, again. This version was recorded on street piano in Milwaukee/Portland, Oregon down the street from the Vet Cancer Clinic.
Update:
We made it through the PNW heat wave! Yay! Since the last post, Petey got a third Elspar shot, which didn’t work. We started him on a low dose of prednisone, which helped for a while, and he had no side effects except being extra into the kitchen. His nodes popped up, so we upped his dose to a normal therapeutic dose, which is still pretty low, but it’s helping. This got us through the heat wave, and it was truly a special time together. Over the weekend one node popped up huge, so we went in yesterday. But good news! Yesterday was not the day! She said it could be two days or two weeks, at this point. That’s how lymphoma works — most dogs are fine until they’re not. But once one node gets really big, it’s a sign that things are progressing. So we’re preparing. He’s getting a cheeseburger this week! It’s cool enough to walk! And we’ll write together, every morning, doing the routines he likes best. Feel free to stop by for a visit or reach out and say hello. If he’s well, he’ll be happy to see you. As always, we heart you! We’re happy you’re here. Thanks for holding space for us. Petey says I love you, I love you, I love you. Now: get out there and make some magic! Bark bark!
xoxo,
Kari & Petey
Oh goodness - this wrecked me, and it lifted me up at the same time.
Did you ever start him on some medicinal mushrooms? I've seen some amazing things...
I'm just glad he has you, and I know how much love for you is there from him as well. Otis' passing was both gentle and rather lovely, as I was there with him through all of it. I do regret telling Zoe that morning that if she felt she had to go, she could go. I wish we could have been there with her so she didn't go it alone... Mike went home to check on her and she was having a hard time. He didn't have anyone there to help. In retrospect, I wish we had called someone in to help her pass peacefully that day, as I realize now that just telling her that before I left for work meant that some part of me knew it was time, but I thought that just meant "soon".
I remember that little puppy - it's hard to believe that time has flown by.