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    The Seasons of Cherokee’S Life: A Canine’S Final Reflections
    The Seasons of Cherokee’S Life: A Canine’S Final Reflections
    The Seasons of Cherokee’S Life: A Canine’S Final Reflections
    Ebook101 pages1 hour

    The Seasons of Cherokee’S Life: A Canine’S Final Reflections

    By Sandra Y. Roberts

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    About this ebook

    Cherokee is old. His joints ache. His nose can no longer distinguish between the scent of bacon and a clump of dirt. His eyes see only shadows. On the eve of his death, he lies in a cage in an animal hospital, with a needle in his forepaw, and reflects on his life and purpose of being a faithful companion to his beloved mistress and best friend, Alicia Baxter.

    Alicia and Cherokees friendship begins when Alicia wanders into a pet shop and finds herself drawn to the puppy prancing before the window with his food bowl in his mouth. From the moment Alicia brings him home, Cherokee becomes an integral part of her journey of self-discovery as she struggles with insecurities, a lack of identity, and an unimaginable loss. Even as Alicia makes a life-altering decision to start over in a place where she is forced to rely on herself, Cherokees love and loyalty to her never waver.

    Narrated in a voice filled with wisdom, humor, and astute awareness, The Seasons of Cherokees Life tells the story of a dogs deep bond with his mistress as he walks beside her and watches her transform into the courageous and independent woman he has always believed her to be.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateNov 8, 2013
    ISBN9781491711033
    The Seasons of Cherokee’S Life: A Canine’S Final Reflections
    Author

    Sandra Y. Roberts

    Sandra Y. Roberts was the owner of Cherokee, her beloved shih tzu who passed away in 2011, and whose life inspired this novel. She currently lives in Winthrop, Massachusetts.

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      Book preview

      The Seasons of Cherokee’S Life - Sandra Y. Roberts

      Contents

      My Last Night

      Hello!

      My New Family

      Daniel

      Our Heartbreak

      Dealing with Our Grief

      Our New Start

      Alicia’s Turn

      Alicia’s Taste of New England

      Matthew

      Alicia and Matt

      Farewell

      My Last Night

      I am spending the last day of my life in a cage, with a needle in my forepaw. The hope is that the fluids will help to bring down the elevated numbers in my kidneys , or some such thing. That’s what I heard, at least. The veterinarian’s recommendation did offer some hope to my two best friends, given the fact that I am below the life expectancy for my breed. I am only ten years old. I guess that’s considered young. But like humans, we all age differently and die when we are supposed to.

      This is not quite where or how I had imagined I would spend my last night of breathing. But, oh well, what are you going to do? Naturally, I would much rather be at home, spending my last hours surrounded by my stuffed toys and the people I love.

      What dog wouldn’t? Despite what my desires might be, however, in the long run it’s better this way. I cannot bear the thought of my friends finding me dead under the desk, in the closet, or in some corner of the house. I know that would be too much for them, especially for my Alicia.

      As I became increasingly aware that the end of my life grew imminent, instinct and love had me isolating myself a little more each day. Distancing myself from their everyday life was my way of easing those I held most dear to accept the inevitability that soon I would no longer be with them. But sadly, in the end, it will not matter. They are still going to hurt. And that is too bad.

      The poor golden retriever across from me had surgery today. He woke up a little while ago and is whimpering in pain. Not too long ago, I would have stood up and wagged my tail in acknowledgment. Show him a little support, you know? But I no longer have it in me. He will be fine, though. He is young and will be chasing after tennis balls in no time.

      As for me, I could not chase my own tail even if I wanted to. Despite my cute, little puppy face (well, that’s what everyone says), I am old. My joints ache. My nose can no longer distinguish between the scent of bacon and a clump of dirt. My eyes see only shadows. And the worst indignity of all? Loss of control over bowel and bladder.

      Am I afraid to die? No. Not at all. Unlike our human counterparts, animals are not conditioned to fear death. We are born to serve a purpose and then leave. And my purpose has been to be a faithful and loyal companion. I have to say, I have had a good life. The love my two friends feel for me is very much reciprocated. In fact, I might have been a little spoiled, if truth be told. But not to the point where I was a ball buster and made their lives miserable. I may have been a bit finicky when it came to my food, and I might have refused to eat until a bribe in the form of table scraps was tossed into my bowl. Oh, and then there was my tendency to take whoever was walking me hither and yon in my quest to find the perfect place to do my business. Other than that, I have been a peach.

      We were close, the three of us. So close, in fact, that I can feel their anguish over my failing health. Not to mention their conflicting emotions over whether or not to put me down if they get a bad report—which they will. I will not die during the night. That would be too devastating for them. I will give them the opportunity to say good-bye. But when they come to see me in the morning, I will definitely make it easier for them to let me go.

      In the meantime, I am going to share what life was like for me and all that I have learned and observed.

      Hello!

      Dog owners, more often than not, like to attribute human emotions and characteristics to their pets. While we are by no means just a dumb dog , we are not human either. For example, people will often mistake a dog’s territorial behavior for jealousy. There was a little dog named Sombrero I once knew who would always growl whenever anyone came too close to his master. The woman, who lived alone, would often say to people who commented on it, Oh, don’t pay attention to Sombrero. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Turning to Sombrero, she would say, You’re just jealous, aren’t you, sweetie? You want Mummy a ll to yourself, don’t you? Well, no, not really. The poor woman was lonely and projected her need for love onto her dog. Since boundaries were never set with Sombrero, he saw his owner as belonging to him, like a toy or a bone.

      But are we intelligent? Most definitely. Naturally, our thought process is limited. We do not possess the kind of intelligence where we can interpret the meaning of an abstract painting by staring at it. Nor can we verbalize that we are tired of being fed the same kibble day in and day out. I learned to get around that little impediment by turning away from the food that was placed before me. Inevitably, some tasty tidbit would always be added.

      We are not driven by ego, so we do not know how to be, say, self-serving or disingenuous. We are steadfast in our loyalty, love unconditionally, do not judge or hold grudges, and can always be counted on to be there for you. And our intuition allows us to read humans better than you can read each other. No offense intended. According to my Alicia, dogs possess the right qualities that more people should try to emulate.

      As for social grace, we have not perfected the fine art of etiquette and decorum while in the presence of polite society. We will hump a leg or lick ourselves when the urge hits. We live in the moment, so life for us is carefree. There are no regrets over what happened yesterday or anxiety about tomorrow to bog us down.

      But enough of that. With time being limited, I need to get on with my story. I am sure that by now you must be a bit curious as to what breed I am. I am shih tzu. For a male, I am smaller in stature and have a petite face. I was often mistaken for female. My hair was kept short because Alicia did not want a dog that looked like a walking mop.

      I was born in what you refer to as a puppy mill. As newborns, my siblings and I never had the opportunity to blindly jockey for position at the trough of my exhausted mother’s teats. Unfortunately, my mother died shortly after giving birth to us. The poor thing had been subjected to repeated breeding that resulted in her giving birth to litter after litter in rapid succession. After we were born, her body had given out on her. Lucky for us, there were plenty of lactating females for us to nurse from.

      While my time there was short, relatively speaking, the one distinct memory I have is of the incessant barking, crying, whimpering, and howling. There were no comforting murmurs or affectionate pats on the head to soothe us. As I am relating this to you, I am suddenly struck by the irony. We are bred for the purpose of becoming valued members of a loving human family, but while we

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