In the Middle – So Much Love

It was only a matter of weeks after our beloved family dog passed away at age 15 that I was researching lab rescues with the tenacity of a bloodhound on a hunt. My husband thought it was too soon and reminded me of the countless times I pledged I would never get another dog.

I didn’t want to want a dog. I didn’t want their hair that floated and coated every possible surface, or to operate as a reluctant doorman for an indecisive canine who couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be inside or out. Mostly, I wanted to avoid the crushing heartache of grief from losing a dog’s loyal and unyielding love when the inevitability of death came.

Yet the emptiness that filled my hairless house and my aching heart made these objections seem trivial. Within weeks, I adopted a three-year-old yellow lab from Labrador Retriever Rescue of Florida. He had been abandoned at a house in a rural county and was undergoing treatment for heartworms. He was mellow and acted older than his years. We called him Mack because he seemed rugged and manly like the Marlboro man, if he had been a truck driver instead of a nicotine-addicted cowboy peddling cigarettes from a horse. Besides, at 94 pounds, our new dog bore a certain likeness to a Mack truck.

During our first few months together, Mack wouldn’t go in the backyard alone, so I often sat outside with him for long stretches of time. He didn’t feel well because he was still recovering from heartworm treatment, so mostly we just sat together in that empty space of contemplation.  I often found myself looking over at where we had buried our beloved family dog and wondered if Mack was also thinking about someone he loved and lost.

It felt as if we were starting in the middle; in that tenuous space where we think we should know more than we do about ourselves and each other. His formative years were shaped by someone else. There are gaps and details of his previous life that remain a mystery.  It didn’t bother me to think that maybe he missed his other family. I miss having young children and the raucous black dog that fit so perfectly amid our pack. I didn’t need him to be the family dog or the best dog ever; life already blessed me with that. When we found out Mack needed knee surgery and has hip dysplasia, I didn’t lament his imperfections. My body had already shown me its share of its own.

I came to see us both not as broken by the past but as brave for shrugging off the endless possibilities of new beginnings; of the proverbial blank page, in exchange for a story that’s half-written but still holds the promise of a great ending. Despite all the uncertainty that the middle can bring, it’s almost always the most interesting part of the story; the part where growth happens so that our happily-ever-after endings can too. And, Mack really deserves a happily-ever-after ending.

Most of us are in the middle of something. We are wedged between hope and reality; between the grit of our yet-achieved goals; amidst the unfolding of our understanding; in that sometimes-cavernous space between possibility and promise. No matter the circumstances, it’s scary to keep going; even scarier to begin in the middle; to trust; to know the many reasons why things may not work out, and to have enough hope and love to try anyway. It’s like walking on a cloud of faith, knowing there’s a real possibility of hitting the pavement below.

I didn’t get another dog because it made sense. Love is always illogical. I adopted Mack because I longed for the joy our family dog had brought us. I knew it wouldn’t be the same. I didn’t need it to be. If mercy is anything, it’s a do-over. And if I know anything, it’s that love is always worth doing over – no matter the sacrifice or loss that is the flip side of love.

It’s been a year since we adopted Mack. He no longer seems like the strong, silent type. He plays with his fluffy lamb and loves to be called his “Mama’s little kitten.” He commandeers the middle of the bed, leaving my husband and me clinging to opposite edges of the mattress. He faithfully waits for me to get up in the morning and howls like a trumpeter announcing the good news of our arrival when we walk into the living room together. He pesters me for twice-daily walks and occasionally refuses to walk with my husband if I can’t join them. He’s quirky and stubborn, and reminds me of all the different ways we are capable of love.

Mack finally goes in the backyard by himself for short bits of time, but sometimes I sit outside with him anyway. I look over at the grave of the family dog and back at spoiled, stubborn, sweet-as-pie Mack, and I think how very lucky I am to be in the middle of so much love.

Hi all~ I’m not sure what you are in the middle of today. I feel like I’m in the middle of everything, and Mack reminds me that it’s not such a bad place to be. May you find the Mack in your middle and be reminded of love’s joy. ~ Love, Lara

P.S. – If you are looking to adopt, our experience with Lab Retriever Rescue of Florida was amazing. P.S.S. – See why Mack has to sleep in a king-size bed?!