Motion is the Potion

Originally published at KarenVernon.net on July 31, 2022

Mine has been a household in mourning for most of the past month. Savvy, the irascible mutt who made her home with me for nearly 14 years, is gone. 

Friends and followers of my work know Savvy from this piece first published in 2017. This “good enough dog” was a force of nature. Adopted reluctantly, she wormed her way into our good graces sufficiently to keep herself fed and in receipt of shelter and routine medical care. Often unspeakably annoying, and rarely suitable for public interaction, Savvy nonetheless possessed a good and loyal heart, and likely wanted nothing more than to be a calm little lapdog. Alas, her long, gangly legs and full-body quivering prevented that most of the time.

Over the last few years, though, aging began to take a toll. Those legs lost their bounce, and she was less inclined than before – compelled by some greyhound DNA lurking in her murky bloodline – to burn off a burst of energy by making lightning-fast turns around the yard. Her vision blurred, her hearing dulled, and, like a lot of old ladies, she began to grow a skin tag here and there. One of these, undetected on her back foot, grew so large it literally exploded on Halloween a few years ago, leaving our porch looking a little too well decorated for the holiday with a trail of blood splatters from one end to the other. One toe amputation later, she was good as almost new until a new little tag started up on her neck, and then grew, and grew some more. We named it Frances, so as not to keep calling it “that thing on her neck.” Dignified, Savvy was not, but still, she carried on.

At least, that is, until several weeks ago, when her aging kidneys and liver sent her into a rapid decline. We knew the time was at hand, and so she took her final breath on that same porch, under the tender care of 4 Paws Mobile Hospice, with as many of us as possible gathered around to see her safely to the Rainbow Bridge. We humans should be so lucky, to cast off this mortal coil so peacefully.

In addition to the humans who loved Savvy, left to mourn her is the most-rescued-of-rescue-pups, Zuma, who made his way into our lives several years back. Named for the bike trail where my husband found him near death, Zuma grew up under Savvy’s tutelage from the age of about eight weeks, meaning he’s been equally unpresentable to the general public. While distinctly calmer and more sociable than his older sibling, some congenital abnormalities mean his hips and back legs won’t tolerate long hikes or trail running like we’d hoped.

Big sister Savvy helped train little Zuma

But now, with Savvy gone, watching his grief was heartbreaking. Already prone to separation anxiety, he wouldn’t let us out of his sight. So what were his humans to do?

In this case, I took some wisdom from Gordon Lightfoot, and a quote he noted in a documentary we saw about him recently: “motion is the potion.” I know it’s true for me; I’ve written before how, as an Enneagram 6 (head-type), nothing is better therapy for me than getting my feet on the ground, moving on the earth. It’s how I meditate, how I create, how I worship, how I remember.

So if it works for me, why not for Zuma? Well, for starters, despite his smallish size and delicate limbs, he’s about 40 pounds of pure, undisciplined muscle, which can be a bit more than I can handle. I was determined to help pull him out of his misery, though, so I went about exploring ways to make him more manageable on walks. A torso-harness would be ideal, but his internal injuries as a pup make him intolerant of anything around his middle. I tried a snout harness, but he’d have none of that. 

Finally, desperate for a way to help, I decided to give it a try with his standard collar. I drove him to our neighborhood lake and steeled myself for the worst. Which didn’t take long to come; over-eager at this new adventure, Zuma pushed his way out of the car, knocked me to the ground and dragged me a few feet across the pavement for good measure. 

Despite that clumsy beginning and my own notorious lack of patience, a sort of miracle has since unfolded. This new activity mattered to both of us, so we kept trying, and every trip got a little better. Now, after just a few weeks, Zuma makes his way around that lake like a champ. Er…most of the time. He still pulls like crazy for the first 50 yards or so, but I’ve learned how to manage that and to anticipate what riles him up. He gets excited about pee-mail, which he sniffs out (and delivers!) at every bridge railing and tall tuft of grass. He was delighted one day to find a fish, still flapping on the shore, left behind by a bored goose moments before. He was less delighted when, after gulping it down before I could stop him, he threw up his breakfast half a lap later. He ignores the gaggle of hissing geese that I thought would make him crazy. He mostly gives a wide berth to the other dogs who want to check out the new kid on the block.

It seems we’re both honoring Savvy’s memory by doing something she could never really master. Sometimes, I like to think she’s now tagging along with us in spirit. Maybe Zuma doesn’t have to chase the geese, or antagonize the other dogs, because Savvy’s got that part covered. 

Our walks have become a form of healing for both of us. Zuma’s getting some undivided attention and much needed exercise every day, filling some of the hours he used to spend with Savvy. And I’m strengthening my bond with this guy for whom, up until now, I was mostly just ‘the food lady.” Turns out motion really is the potion.