Today has been an emotion-filled day, for lots of reasons. One of those reasons is that today is Wesley Macomber’s 21st birthday…and I miss him. The thing about dogs is that they just don’t live long enough. Or we live too long. I’m really not sure which, but I kinda don’t like the outliving-my-pets part of my life. Not one bit. (Well, I do rather like the living part, just not the living-without-them part.) And then the poor guy managed to leave this world just shy of his 16th birthday, which makes July doubly hard for me. I don’t just miss him, I double-miss him. Or something like that.
This is Mac. He changed my life. Forever. For the better. This little dog is the reason I will always have a houseful of dogs, even when I’m old and feeble and have to hire someone to take care of them for me.
He was almost someone else’s dog, but God said Mac belonged with me.
When he was 12 weeks old, my neighbor stole him from me, but God said Mac belonged with me.
And even though God had to have known I’d stick reindeer antlers on his cute little head and take his picture, he still said Mac belonged with me.
So much to say…so many stories…but they’ll have to wait until a few of my tears subside.
I was blessed to have spent all but the first eight weeks of his life with him and to have the honor of cradling him in my arms when he took his last breath, at home, all in his own good time.
I named Mac after the hero in the movie, “The Princess Bride” and the title character in Hemingway’s short story, “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber.” Like Wesley, the hero, Mac was ever my protector and defender, and like Francis Macomber, he would sometimes dare to take on other animals that were way out of his league – with much better results, mind you! Mac did, after all, master the art of making big dogs walk away, puzzled, when they could’ve easily had him for a snack!
Mostly, though, Mac was my constant, loyal companion. He had a knack for making me feel like I was the only human on the planet who was qualified to be his dog-mom. In my darkest hours, he and Alex were often the only reason I could think of to get out of bed and face another day. He was my Jesus-with-skin-on more times than I could ever count.