Maybe a year or two after Penny joined our family,, something kind of amazing happened: a huge, arthritic black lab who lived in the farm next to us wandered over one day, and Penny cried and wagged and cried some more, and ran back and forth to the front door. They were cries of pure joy, so I let her out. Clearly, these two had known one another in another life, and were reunited. She danced around him and, bless his heart, he tried to keep up with her. Colt was his name, and he became a regular visitor. Sometimes days would pass, but we could always count on him to show up, and with his presence on our porch, the same dancing-crying show would get her an open door. I’d never seen anything like it before, but over the years it became normal. He came by about a week after she died. Up on the porch, staring into the front door, ambling around the house. And he’s been back twice since then—each time breaking my heart all over again. “She’s not here, Colt,” I say through tears. “I’m sorry—so sorry—but she’s not coming back. You don’t need to keep trying, buddy.” He found, and then lost, the love of his life. I know just how he feels.
Pat Ponders Life 