I knew as soon as I entered the house my dog was gone. She did not come to greet me in her usual happy way. The house was silent with a kind of eerie emptiness. I went from room to room calling out "Ladybug! Ladybug!" in more and more frantic tones as my anxiety level shot through the roof and my heart raced.
The Golden Retriever who was visiting ran out to greet her owners. I went out behind the house to where the man was who had been taking care of the dogs. He reported he had let Ladybug and the Golden out into the front yard and left them for an hour and a half unsupervised. He did not realize a gate was open. He had looked for Ladybug for a little while but decided that she would come to me better than him, so it could wait until I got home. I was furious but had to bring my attention back to my search.
Ladybug was nowhere to be found. I checked all the outside gates and fences and found nothing. We all walked the grounds around the house with flashlights and called and called for her. Eventually, we decided she was not here and we would have to wait and look for her in the morning. I didn't sleep a wink all night. My feelings spun through a painful cycle--panic, sadness and rage--all night long. With the first light of the morning I was out again looking for her again.
I live in the Sonoran Desert in Southern Arizona. We have almost as many coyotes as cactus. Ladybug had spent 13 1/2 years totally protected and was neither "worldly" or "desert-wise". Add to that she is a small Tibetan Spaniel and a light golden color, which shows up in the moonlight. I wasn't feeling very optimistic about her making it through this. The desert suddenly felt gigantic to me and the thought of finding her like looking for a needle in a haystack.
When calling her and looking around didn't produce any results, I went to the neighbors and asked them to be on the lookout. I called the animal shelters in the area and animal control. I looked on Craig's list and put in an add. Then I made up a flyer and drove around putting them up. The next day I went to all the shelters to look to see if she was there. It was very sad to see all the dogs and cats there but sadder still that there was no Ladybug.
That night I felt really defeated. It was her third night away and I was losing hope. I felt that I needed to start dealing with the possible reality that she might not ever come home. My grief for my other two Tibbies, Abracadabra and Arty, who had both died last year because of old age, made Ladybug's absence all the more unbearable. I was fighting with these feelings when I went to sleep.
When the phone rang the next morning I was feeling so defeated I almost missed it. A woman's voice said, "We have Ladybug. She won't come to us but we fed her and she is still sticking around." I dashed in the car the half mile down the road as a heavy rain came down. When I got there the woman said that Ladybug had just left. I began to call her. Then I saw her--wet to the bone--coming to me. The woman gave me a towel to dry her off and I swaddled her close. I couldn't hold it in anymore--big tears began to flow.
Grief is an intense experience that can lead us through a healing process which leaves us in a completely different mental, emotional and spiritual heart place. I believe the most challenging grief is when something happens to someone we love and they disappear. We are left not knowing what happened to them, if they are dead or alive, hurt or okay. Without information it is impossible to know what to do. The feeling of powerlessness is overwhelming.
For me, this whole experience was a spiritual process. It put me back in touch with how vulnerable life really is and reminded me about what is truly important. My little Ladybug has always had a very special place in my heart, made even stronger now that she is home.
The Golden Retriever who was visiting ran out to greet her owners. I went out behind the house to where the man was who had been taking care of the dogs. He reported he had let Ladybug and the Golden out into the front yard and left them for an hour and a half unsupervised. He did not realize a gate was open. He had looked for Ladybug for a little while but decided that she would come to me better than him, so it could wait until I got home. I was furious but had to bring my attention back to my search.
Ladybug was nowhere to be found. I checked all the outside gates and fences and found nothing. We all walked the grounds around the house with flashlights and called and called for her. Eventually, we decided she was not here and we would have to wait and look for her in the morning. I didn't sleep a wink all night. My feelings spun through a painful cycle--panic, sadness and rage--all night long. With the first light of the morning I was out again looking for her again.
I live in the Sonoran Desert in Southern Arizona. We have almost as many coyotes as cactus. Ladybug had spent 13 1/2 years totally protected and was neither "worldly" or "desert-wise". Add to that she is a small Tibetan Spaniel and a light golden color, which shows up in the moonlight. I wasn't feeling very optimistic about her making it through this. The desert suddenly felt gigantic to me and the thought of finding her like looking for a needle in a haystack.
When calling her and looking around didn't produce any results, I went to the neighbors and asked them to be on the lookout. I called the animal shelters in the area and animal control. I looked on Craig's list and put in an add. Then I made up a flyer and drove around putting them up. The next day I went to all the shelters to look to see if she was there. It was very sad to see all the dogs and cats there but sadder still that there was no Ladybug.
That night I felt really defeated. It was her third night away and I was losing hope. I felt that I needed to start dealing with the possible reality that she might not ever come home. My grief for my other two Tibbies, Abracadabra and Arty, who had both died last year because of old age, made Ladybug's absence all the more unbearable. I was fighting with these feelings when I went to sleep.
When the phone rang the next morning I was feeling so defeated I almost missed it. A woman's voice said, "We have Ladybug. She won't come to us but we fed her and she is still sticking around." I dashed in the car the half mile down the road as a heavy rain came down. When I got there the woman said that Ladybug had just left. I began to call her. Then I saw her--wet to the bone--coming to me. The woman gave me a towel to dry her off and I swaddled her close. I couldn't hold it in anymore--big tears began to flow.
Grief is an intense experience that can lead us through a healing process which leaves us in a completely different mental, emotional and spiritual heart place. I believe the most challenging grief is when something happens to someone we love and they disappear. We are left not knowing what happened to them, if they are dead or alive, hurt or okay. Without information it is impossible to know what to do. The feeling of powerlessness is overwhelming.
For me, this whole experience was a spiritual process. It put me back in touch with how vulnerable life really is and reminded me about what is truly important. My little Ladybug has always had a very special place in my heart, made even stronger now that she is home.
