When we arrived home from BC Children’s Hospital the morning after Cora died, Juno met us at the gate with his tail doing the helicopter, head cocking back and forth and ears flopping with the comical motion. I completely ignored him – lost in a world of misery – and stumbled, exhausted and emotionally crippled, into our bedroom. He followed me into our room and laid down on the floor beside our bed.
When I woke up, twelve hours later, the first thing I became aware of was Juno’s soft, warm presence snuggled up against my back. I turned over to find him there, on his back with three paws in the air and one resting lightly on Greg’s back. I scratched his belly and he popped an eye open and grinned at me, as he always does, and I immediately started crying again. His reaction was immediate. He rolled over, wiggled his way into my arms and placed his head on my chest – his chin almost touching my nose – and he whined softly. I wrapped my arms around him and sobbed.
He let me cry into his fur for twenty minutes. He didn’t squirm. He didn’t try to get away. He didn’t do anything but lay there and let me cry. When I was done, he wagged his tail at me, sat up and yawned and then headed outside to greet the day.
This is who Juno is. He reads us and reacts with a keen doggy instinct that is never wrong and he loves life, no matter what it brings, even if it brings pain. He is the warm and beautiful glue that has held us together every day since Cora died (even before that) and he has taught us to keep on going, even when pain threatens to shut us down. Juno is a perfect example of how life is meant to be lived.
Today, our sunshine dog had surgery to repair his shredded cruciate ligament and he’s spending the night at the vet’s. We both feel the lack of his presence here, so I’ve been looking at pics of him for the last hour and giggling.
Tomorrow, when I go to pick him up, I know how he’ll greet me – despite the pain he’ll be in. So, in true Juno fashion, I will greet him at the vet with my tail doing the helicopter, my ears flopping as I cock my head back and forth, and a big ole smile on my chops.
Goodnight my friends. I wish you all enough…