It was already fairly late in the day, around 3pm, but I decided to take my camera and head out for a walk back down to the Kits doggy beach, hoping to practise my hand at a few more candid pet photos. Also, when I'd been there on Monday, I noticed a very pregnant woman sitting on a log, snuggling with her gorgeous husky and he was looking at her with total adoration. I've kicked myself all week for being too self-conscious to ask if I could take their photograph. In part my return visit yesterday was in hope of seeing them again.
I'd been down there about an hour - enamoured by the fervent enthusiasm dogs have for running back and forth, in and out of the water, sniffing, playing and rough-housing with every other dog they meet. And that's when I noticed a gentle and mellow old boy, sniffing the air and taking it all in.
This time I actually plucked up the nerve to ask his owner if I might photograph him/them. She willingly obliged and told me his name was Jake, he was 12 years old and had spent half his life as a police dog, before retiring six years ago. I began taking a few pictures and offered to send her the photographs, if she had an email address. Without hesitation, she gave me her business card.
Jake was adorable. A friendly old german shepherd, quite grey with patchy skin and baldy bits on his belly, legs and nose. He was frail, arthritic and, even if his eyesight hadn't entirely failed him yet, he was apparently quite deaf. Regardless, he seemed happy and very content to be at the beach.
"He's always been such a great dog," his owner said and, after a couple more photographs, whispered, "today is his last day".
I felt like all the air had been knocked out of me. "Oh no, I'm so sorry," I said, and we both started to cry. My heart went out to her. To both of them, not least because I'm so horribly familiar with the heart-wrenching pain of bracing yourself to say goodbye to an old and beloved furry family member.
She told me how Jake used to tear up and down the beach at high speed, outrunning most other dogs, playing, chasing tennis balls and charging into the tide, then pulled out her Iphone to show me her favourite photo of him and pictures from his younger days. This was to be Jake's last visit to the beach.
Suddenly it was even more poignant that I capture some great shots, not only of Jake but of both of them. I wanted to do him justice, especially on his last day. Nevertheless, I tried not to be too intrusive in their final - and very special - moments together and stepped carefully over my words.
I hardly dared breathe as I took each picture and, of the dozen or so images, I think this one is my favourite.
 |
| Jake - a brave and very handsome boy. |
A short time later they turned to make their way off the beach. I gave Jake one last ruffle. "I'm so sorry for what you're going through. He's a lovely, handsome dog - I hope my pictures do him justice. Take care." I said, and we both choked up again.
They meandered back to the pathway and very slowly disappeared out of sight. It took me more than ten minutes (and a couple of kleenex) to compose myself. It's an odd thing to feel such overwhelming and heart-felt compassion for two complete strangers but what a blessing and undeniably curious timing that on this day, when I finally push myself to ask permission, I should have the honour and privilege of sharing such a special, emotional moment - and pictures - of two dear friends preparing to say goodbye :-( Serendipity? Kismet? Divine intervention?
When I shared the above photo and a brief explanation on Facebook, my friend, Glen, summed it up perfectly; "Life can seem so random and then there's the odd moment where it seems like it was arranged."
I'm deeply touched to have shared such a special encounter with this brave and magnificent old boy and his human guardian. I'm so sorry that his days with his family have drawn to a close.
Happy trails to Rainbow Bridge, Jake. xxx
(Out of respect for Jake's owner - M - I chose not to include pictures of them both here.)
No comments:
Post a Comment