My greatest Christmas gift

DEBBIE JACOB

THERE’S NO good time to say goodbye to a beloved dog, but Christmas seems particularly painful because it’s a time to think of birth, not death. Hoping for a miracle when Rambo developed unexplainable anaemia, I placed his bed in the living room near the Christmas tree decorated with glittery stars, transparent birds and angels. The amber lights gave his tired body an aura.

I remembered Rambo as a gentle, pitbull puppy who slept with stuffed animals he stole from the Christmas tree. I clung to happy memories of Rambo strapped in his harness and seatbelt, sitting next to me in the car and hanging his head out of the window. Even when he could barely walk, Rambo willed himself to the car when he saw me grab my handbag. By then he could only lie on the seat with his head in my lap.

I fought the constant thought that Christmas, once cheery, would now symbolise immeasurable loss. I cried, but never around Rambo. The canine police officers had said, “You must be strong, happy and calm because the dog will pick up on your feelings.”

I took that advice to heart remembering this was the dog who nudged me towards my bed when he sensed I was sick and about to be overwhelmed by a fever; the dog who held my hand between his paws when my knee cap slipped out of place; the dog who sniffed me when I broke into a cold sweat and climbed on the bed to cover me with his body.

No one ever took care of me like Rambo. For over a decade, I needed no alarm clock. He knew I wrote my books at 4 am before going to work, so he always made sure to wake me up. When I retired, and he realised I didn’t leave the house in the morning, Rambo let me sleep. At my usual bedtime, 9 pm, he coaxed me to my bedroom where he slept too.

For the last decade, he refused to let me bathe with the door closed after he saw me fall in the shower. I wrote six books to the rhythm of his snoring and never felt a writer’s loneliness because of his company. He saw me through this covid19 pandemic.

Rambo’s uncontrollable anaemia baffled me. At almost 13, he had been in perfect health heading into December, then walking became difficult.

A blood transfusion on Christmas Eve renewed my hope. Rambo ate turkey and rice with gusto and often left his bed in the living room to curl up under the Christmas tree. His brindle coat made him look like a present wrapped in animal print paper.

Wooden wind chimes swayed in the breeze; parrots squawked and birds sang as we sat together in silence. From Christmas Eve onward, a small brown bird walked across the driveway, into the gallery and straight into my living room. Its darting eyes watched Rambo; then me. Never afraid, the bird lingered.

Tired and weak, but experiencing no pain, Rambo slowly faded away, giving me time to think about life without him. I felt a clear message: I made sure you had one last Christmas with me. We had our miracle two years ago when I beat cancer. Appreciate simple joys. Accept change. Understand not everything in life can be explained. Face the end of any journey with courage and dignity.

A dog’s short life is a reminder to waste no time. Perhaps it is our lesson to take nothing for granted; a reminder to love, live in the moment and trust life’s journey.

On December 31, Rambo could no longer move. The time had come to put Rambo to sleep. At the veterinarian’s office, his gentle breathing disappeared. His heart stopped in a peaceful way.

Sobbing all the way home with my son, Zino, by my side, I remembered him as a fat puppy born in my house and as a sick dog lying under the Christmas tree. Then it hit me: That image he created under the tree was not about Rambo as a Christmas present, it was about his Christmas presence.

Rambo gave me an indelible Christmas memory: Every holiday, think of me lying under your tree. Think of small miracles, the beauty of life and the joy of loving a dog. I live in your heart.

Rambo gave me the greatest Christmas gift possible: faith. The bird that walked through my living room in Rambo’s last days has not returned.