Since last March, I have been visiting a pet clinic because of my cat Eddie. The clinic is in northern Massachusetts, about two hours from our home on Cape Cod. I expected it would be terrible depressing but it's just the opposite. I have been so surprised at what I have learned there.
Now I believe happiness is something to love in any form. If I've ever know an angel, it is Keri, Eddie's technician. Both Eddie and I are under her loving care. She gives Eddie his medicines. She gives me emotional guidance as well.
I can offer tell when it's someone's first visit. They're usually crying. I think the reason why the rest of us don't cry has nothing to do with hope. I think it has to do with another ingredient of happiness. When we think about our pet's distant future, even if they're healthy, will feel sad. Keri, in her prayerful voice says, "Focus on loving Eddie right now." "Right now" is the only way people think at her clinic.
Instant connection is what happens in the waiting room. We join together to tenderly life a lame dog. We take turns distracting a cat with sparkly toys so she doesn't chew her bandage. Nobody asks for help. Everybody offers. We just do it.
When the end of life is very near, owners often believe their pet's happiness is more important than something like a strict diet. A young fellow whose pet dog suffers from canner says, "He can have anything he wants now." So I guess an element of happiness is not so much the length of a life but the joy and peace that life contains.
At this place, the focus is not on dying, and it's not on living. The focus, for pets and for people, is on living happily.
