Perfectly Enough

A year ago today the afternoon had been stormy. Cold rain slicked every surface, and the forecast predicted it would harden into ice overnight. I coaxed Tilda to the door. Weak after not having eaten for several days, she was slow but still determined. That last week she hadn’t refused to go out once — my girl, who loved being outdoors with the wind in her ears and the trail underfoot.

I walked her to the local parkette before we crossed the street for her appointment at the vet. Somewhere in my gut I knew the truth: She wouldn’t be coming back home with me.

As we walked up the block, a crack in the sky opened. After days of grey upon gloom, gold flooded from above. Without sunglasses, I simply squinted in wonder at the sight. A tug on the leash told me Tilda’s focus was still on the ground. After refusing everything I had tried to feed her in previous days, she lunged at a soggy French fry tucked by the curb. If you knew Tilda, you know a prized piece of street food was nothing short of a perfect last meal. 

Forty-five minutes later she had crossed the rainbow bridge. 

I’ve told Tilda’s story over and over again — how she was the dog I didn’t think my life had room for; how she picked me at the shelter (literally, with her one grey paw on my knee); how she bonded with me despite my ex being the animal person; how training her pushed me past every one of my limits; how hiking and then running with her turned me into a marathoner; how spending days and nights with her in the ravines and at the beach healed me; how her independence and energy and boundless love completely transformed my life.

And it wasn’t until she was gone that her greatest gift to me became as clear as those glorious rays of sun that shone down on her for that final walk:

Tilda showed me that I am not hard to love.

The word “too” has come up a lot in my life: I’ve been called too serious, too intense, too intimidating, too difficult. Tilda was also a “too” — too much. She had been surrendered and then sent from a small-town shelter to the Toronto Humane Society because her exuberant energy overwhelmed others. In hindsight, it was no wonder we ended up together.

I had no idea was I was doing when I adopted her. But I learned. She was an utter wild child when she came home with me. But she learned. And ultimately, the two of us labelled “too much” by so many weren’t that at all for each other — we were perfectly enough. 

Tilda was my once-in-a-lifetime soul dog. She came to me unexpectedly — I am convinced because she knew I would need her love and companionship for a new life that unbeknownst to me would begin 6 months later — and she will run free in my heart forever. 

Thank you, my sweet girl. For having taught me my too much is perfectly enough. And for gracing my life with yours.