The One Who Got Left Behind
No one wants to read a sad story, but I need to write one. It’s about my dog Nalu who got left behind in Hawaii when I moved to Washington DC almost 6 months ago. When I last saw my beloved Nalu, he was sitting in the front seat of a car looking back at me as the car he was in drove away. He had no idea where he was going or why he was in someone else’s car. I like to imagine that he knew he was on his way to “summer camp” while I went on a trip. But he didn’t. He also didn’t know that this would be the last time we would see each other. Like most dogs, he totally trusted that he would be taken care of and would come back soon.
As the car drove away, I knew differently. I knew I’d never see my Nalu again. I tried to hold back the tears, but as soon as he was out of sight I turned around and sobbed and sobbed. Oh my God, I’ll never see him again! Even my partner Susan didn’t know why I was sobbing so hard. She knew I’d be getting on a plane tomorrow and flying 5000 miles to the East Coast for a visit. What she didn’t know – just as Nalu didn’t know – was that I’d never be coming back.
Sometimes there comes a point in our lives where we have to make a choice. In my case, it was a choice between living or dying – either starting life over or dying a slow death of being half alive. I knew I had no choice but to leave my beautiful wife Susan, Nalu, my friends, and my home by the ocean. Maui has been my home for the past 15 years. My heart is torn in two at the thought of leaving this beautiful island and all those I love.
I especially grieve for Nalu because he doesn’t have the capacity to understand why he’ll never see me again. He was my constant companion for three and a half years. We were inseparable. I’m sure he trusted that we’d be together forever – that is, if dogs had a sense of time. For Nalu, there was only the present moment, and in that moment, he loved me unconditionally. That’s what makes it so hard to see him drive off in that car. There’s no way I can tell him goodbye and that my love for him will never die. I grieve because I’ve betrayed that trust and the innocence of his love. I cry and cry and cry. Will I ever see you again, my precious Nalu? I pray that you’re well and happy in your new home.
Susan and I adopted him as a 2-month-old puppy and named him Nalu, meaning Ocean Wave. Although my wife Susan helped look after him, Nalu and I were best buddies; we spent literally 24 hours a day together. He was never out of my sight, and I was never out of his. In the morning he’d come in from sleeping outdoors on the lanai and jump on our bed. It was always so comforting to feel his presence by my feet. When Susan woke up, he’d come up and lick her face, hoping for a tummy rub and a cuddle. As we ate breakfast outdoors on the lanai, he’d always be close by, guarding us from any intruders. Like most Aussies, he never let us out of his sight.
Nalu wasn’t always an angel. At times I’d get furious with him when he’d scratch on the door for the fourth time in the evening, wanting me to take him out. Other times he’d pull on his leash with all his strength and almost drag me off my feet. Both Susan and I had many cuts, bruises, and scrapes from this strong, single-minded dog. We took Nalu everywhere with us. Almost every night of the week we’d take him to restaurants with his fake Service Dog uniform on. He’d quietly go under our table while we ate. When it was time to leave everyone was surprised, not knowing he’d been under the table all that time. They would want to pet him, saying, “Oh what a beautiful dog!” He was a rock star. Many, including the servers, knew him by name. Most of the time he was super-friendly to people, but if he saw another dog, or especially a cat, he’d pull on his leash like a pit bull. He was a full-grown dog with 75 pounds of muscle. His happiest times were after we’d given him a rinse to get the sand and salt water off, and he’d run in circles at full speed just celebrating the joy of being alive!
Every day we’d take him down to the beach where we’d throw his ball with a Chuck-It Stick. He’d tirelessly run to catch the ball and proudly bring it back in his mouth. Beachgoers young and old always wanted to play with him. He was affectionate with everyone he met, from kids to grown-ups, bringing joy into their day. Sometimes I’d throw the ball out in the ocean, and he’d dogpaddle through the big waves to get it. When we swam together, I held him at arm’s length so his claws wouldn’t scratch me. Having a dog isn’t always easy. Susan and I would worry about him when he got sick; We’d go nuts when we got fined hundreds of dollars because some uptight neighbor reported him as a “vicious dog” for affectionately jumping up on them.
I’m now living 5000 miles away from Nalu in in the Washington DC area; he’s still alive and well somewhere on Maui living with a lady who no doubt loves him as much as I do. He’s living out his life, and with his dog mind, I’m sure he’s fully in the moment, not thinking how much he misses me every day. He’s just totally present with his new master, who feeds him, takes him for walks, and sleeps with him every night.
I know that if I were ever to visit him on Maui, Nalu would recognize me from a mile away by my scent and come flying towards me, his eyes bright and his tongue out, overflowing with joy. He’d jump up on me and shower me with kisses, licking my face, sniffing me. He’d let me pet him all over – his face, his back, his tummy. He wouldn’t want me to leave his side. He wouldn’t want to let me go, but when it did come time for me to go, (and how could I ever go?), he’d look at me with sad, uncomprehending eyes as if to say, “Why are you leaving me?” But then I’d drive off, with him watching me. He’d be upset and probably wouldn’t eat for a few days, but then he’d pick up his life again.
No doubt he’ll out his life until it’s time to go to the great doggy home in the sky. And I’ll be there to greet him, not in this physical form but as pure formlessness. We’ll both know each other immediately and will come together in joy. He’ll be surrounded in love from all those other beings of light – other dogs I’ve loved, my beloved Linda, my dear Fran, and all those I’ve loved during my life. “Welcome home,” we’ll say – without words. “Welcome back. We love you.”
