Mirriam-Webster defines a hero as: "1 a : a mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability b : an illustrious warrior c : a man admired for his achievements and noble qualities d : one that shows great courage." I hear the word "hero" being used an awful lot ... usually in conjunction with someone performing one act in a unique time of crisis. While I don't want to take away from anyone who has ever risen to such an occasion, I can't help but wonder why we don't applaud our everyday heroes, those who do so much for us throughout their lifetimes. It's the little things that add up to such big things.
Skatiebug did so many of those "little things"; I realize now that too many went unnoticed at the time. He amused me by learning to eat off a fork, made me smile to watch that huge jaw closing gently around the tines in order to pluck off a solitary morsel; it was a gesture of comfort to me during a bleak time in my life. He would converse with me or anyone of my choosing - all I had to do was ask and, doggy lips pursed, he would break into a sing-song that could force the most hardened heart into a smile; another gesture of comfort. He babysat puppies, taught the rescues, tolerated Divot with divinely inspired patience. He never complained when I got home late after an extra-long day at work. He learned to poop in the snow, something he hated. He held on - for me - through some horrendous health issues that would have killed another dog with ease. He was the epitome of comfort. Skater never harmed another creature on this earth. He never, ever complained. He lived an amazing life comprised of millions of softly heroic acts and gestures. Skater was, is and will always be my hero; that's unequivocal and cemented in stone.
Because of having been so blessed with the company of such an amazing dog, I now recognize the heroics of other dogs. My friend, Lois, and I were playing with Bounder the other day; he's still a baby with all the energy and humor that only a young, male GSD can have. At one point, Lois's 11 year old Glass Palace son, Rodney, whom I absolutely ADORE, was watching us, seeing Bounder run in ever-increasing circles, tongue and tail wagging. Rodney silently contemplated this scene until he had had enough, at which point he voiced his opinion of the child's antics and our fascination with them. Of course, Bounder had to go up to the fence and, with a look, tell Rodney, "Tough! I'm younger, I can outrun you and it's MY time now." I looked at this silent communication between the two dogs; one so young, full of energy (and himself) and just beginning on his journey through life and the other, older, graying, less steady on his feet and coming to the end of his journey. I told Bounder that, as much as I loved him, he was still just a Prince in Rodney's kingdom. Rodney was and is the hero; his wisdom, tolerance, sweet nature and continuous effort to be all that he ever was and could be still is so apparent in his aging body. Bounder is so lucky to have such a mentor. I hope he realizes it.
