As a mother, I constantly worry the things that my children learn from the people in their lives. Will their teachers help them strive for academic excellence? Will their friends encourage them to treat others with compassion? Will our family show them how to forgive with grace?
I didn't consider the lessons that our family dog is teaching them, until I read this story from JBou about his dog and the lesson he learned about love and all its imperfections.
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By JBou
The only time I ever saw my dad cry was when Bismarck died in my arms. It is the most vivid memory I have.
My dad and I had sat alone in a room, each of us alone and together at the same time. My throat was swollen with sorrow, that feeling that you get...like a rock is stuck in it. We talk anyway, waiting for the vet to bring Bismarck back from the operating table where they put the tube into his front leg.
When they brought him in, he looked tired and old. He looked ready. The vet's name was Jaime, I wish I remembered her full name, but it doesn't really matter - she doesn't work there anymore anyways.
I hugged my dog as my dad scratched his head. We talked to Bismarck, the vet waited patiently. We agreed that we were ready, and the vet asked if we were sure. We were and she emptied the syringe. I told Bismarck that I loved him as I felt the life draining out of him. He died with his eyes slightly open. I asked someone to shut them. Someone did, it could have been anyone - even me.
Bismarck may have been the world's best dog. I learned to stand up as a toddler by tugging on his ears. He was a Rottweiler and, although people fear them, was the greatest dog I've ever had. He wasn't especially handsome-at least not in old age, large, huggable, cuddly, soft, and he didn't like to play fetch. But he was as much a part of the family as anyone else.
Perhaps what made Bis so great was that he wasn't really remarkable. Bismarck didn't turn heads when we walked leash-less around the neighborhood. He wasn't proud, jaw-dropping or showy. You had to know Bismarck to love Bismarck.
Bismarck stood for everything that matters. He was perfect, yet he wasn't. Bismarck proves that marriage can last, that someone can love the imperfect, that you don't have to be the biggest, strongest, cutest, fastest, smartest or funniest.
Bismarck taught me to love myself before I ever stopped. He died when I was 10, he was 12. My teen years brought insecurities, friendship, first impressions and reputations. But remembering Bismarck grounded me and still does. I loved him despite the fact that he wasn't the traditional "best dog." I now have friends who aren't the coolest, smartest, strongest, fastest or funniest. But these same friends also have a friend who isn't any of these things either, and it's OK.
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