Bernadette was by no means a perfect dog, but she was the perfect dog for me. She could be unpredictable, aggressive, and would bite you if you tried to touch her feet. But she loved me unconditionally with her whole being. She followed me like a shadow and cuddled near me when I was sad or upset. She joined me on all my adventures – hikes in the mountains, walks on the beach, summer swims in the river, road trips, and backpacking trips.
Despite all the good times, though, there was a sort of cloud that hovered over us during the time we had together. Soon after I adopted her, I started noticing her bleeding from her nose… sometimes quite dramatically sneezing and spewing crimson chunks across the floor. I took her to a vet, and then a specialist, and was told she had terminal nasal cancer. There was nothing they could do for her. They suggested I put her down.
Maybe it was denial, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t accept Bernadette’s untimely death. I had been learning about herbalism, and it occurred to me that alternative medicine could offer some hope. I found a holistic vet in Portland and a homeopathic vet, who my mom knew in Virginia, who did virtual visits and consultations. It cost a small fortune, and I couldn’t have afforded it without help from my partner and parents, but it seemed to work.
Days, then weeks, then months drifted by, and Bernadette seemed okay. She lost the chubby weight she gained from too many treats at the shelter, but kept her voracious appetite. She didn’t slow down either. She must have racked up over a hundred miles hiking with me, always carrying her own pack on multi-day trips. She kept me warm camping on cold nights, and I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to protect me from any sort of predator (human or otherwise). After years of solo adventuring, it felt good to have such a faithful friend by my side.
It was over two years and three different homes later when Bernadette’s cancer finally got the better of her. Even though I had plenty of time to prepare myself, I grieved her loss deeply. She had become my closest companion, my fearless protector, and the child I never had or would have. Our relationship didn’t feel like a human-to-dog bond. There was something about her, a look ever-present in her eyes that reflected great depth, a sort of acute understanding for whatever I was feeling. I have had other dogs since then, all of whom I love dearly, but my bonds with them are different.
Perhaps I felt so close to Bernadette because from the beginning I saw in her my own sorry state – a hopeless being too emotionally scarred to be loved. Plenty of people, family included, had given up on us both. Whereas Bernadette had turned fierce, I had turned stubbornly independent and cynical. Yet, as I saw her transform from a snarling, mean mongrel to a happy, affectionate pet, I started believing that I, too, could be transformed by love. My heart opened up for her in a way that was too scary to do for a human at that time. Eventually, though, the practice built emotional muscles that helped me be vulnerable and trusting of people, too. I even did something I thought I would never do – I got married. Today, my life is rich with the love of both pets and people. In the end, Bernadette saved me just as much as I saved her.
This was written by our contributing writer, Kara Kukovich.
The image used in this story was taken by Kara Kukovich of her beloved dog, Bernadette.
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