Grief is Thick

Not a tarot post #2

We were leaving the dog park, our little gang of misfit pups: three doodles, a Berner and Freya. He was just coming in the gate, no dog. He looked a little serious, tall, Seattle hip, mid fifties, long grey sideburns and a baseball cap. I said “Aren’t you missing something?” I like to joke. He didn’t respond. I thought oh dumb me he doesn’t get the joke. He came in as the big dogs were getting their water after our two mile walk. I said something to Freya, using her name, and he came over and said, “I know you.” This happens to me fairly often because I own a popular bookstore and I’m at Magnuson dog park a few times a week and have been for years. He said, “I remember you, but I really remember Freya.”

I started to remember him, his wife and two girls who used to come to the park at the same time as Freya and me, before I had a “dog group.” when Freya and I came alone, or sometimes with one or both of my kids, when Ben was recovering from brain cancer, and I was raw. They were such a joyful family. One of the girls in particular absolutely adored Freya and it was so fun to meet up with them weekly. Phil and Kris were really friendly and had two or three dogs with them, even a Golden toward the end of its life on wheels. We chatted about this and that and it was so pleasant and communal. Dog owners, dog lovers, we are a breed, no pun intended. But we never became “friend friends.” We saw each other at the park, showed and felt some love, and moved on. I thought of them every so often in subsequent years but they were just fleeting thoughts.