What Pudding Taught Me: Be Grateful for Today

“…be with them, watch them, play with them, train them to understand your words, chat with them. Let today be the excuse for a party. And tomorrow. And the next day.”  photo: AdobeStock

On November 29, 1996, my horse died. I had met Pudding a few years earlier at a riding stable. She was for sale for a song. She had a luxurious trot but was seldom ridden because she occasionally kicked, bit, and bucked, and she was next to uncatchable in her stable.

For some reason, Pudding was forgiving with me and never threw me off. With a little patience, she would willingly approach and nuzzle. We became best buddies. In her stable and on long rides, we would natter away about all kinds of things: the other horses, the sunshine, squirrels, and the best species of grass.

Her given name was Black Beauty, but I renamed her Black Pudding because she had enormously outgrown her girth. I rode her Tuesdays and Wednesdays when in town. The countryside drive to the stable in what is now Tassajara was a welcome break from the city. On some weekends, I watched her compete. The stable wouldn't allow her to run cross-country as Pudding (too déclassé, I suppose) and instead registered her as Sierra Express.

Back then, I was often out of town lecturing and while I was at a conference in Phoenix, I got a call that Pudding was sick. It was pancreatic cancer. Over the following two weeks, she went downhill fast, her weight melting away. I canceled the next two seminar weekends and visited her every day. On Thanksgiving, I spent the night in her stable snuggled up next to her. The vet came in the morning. And that was that.

The loss of a good friend and companion is always upsetting, whether it be a cat, dog, horse, or person. It hurts. Really hurts. An enormous part of our life has died, leaving a massive vacuum in our day-to-day activities.

Losing an animal companion may have enormous and long-lasting effects on a person’s lifestyle. We may feel we’ve lost the reason to get out of bed or out of the house. I haven't been cross-country skiing or running (both former passions of mine) since the death of my Malamute, Omaha Beagle, well over 35 years ago. For a long time, we stopped taking family walks. There was no dog to go with us.

During my last day and night with Pudding, my thoughts meandered around the certainty of dying and the permanence of death - and yet, the glorious wonder and awe of living. Surely it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. After I got home from the stable, I wrote an article titled, "Those That We Grieve Tomorrow are Alive and Well Today." A reminder to myself, of sorts.

The deaths of Omaha and Pudding caused me to develop a deep-seated, positive perspective on life by focusing on all the many, many good times we had together. I would go through stacks of photographs, often with tears in my eyes. When falling asleep at night, I found myself talking to Omaha and Pudding, and then, to my dad and grandfather. In fact, Pudding's death was the cork out of the champagne bottle that let loose all the inhibited emotions I’d suppressed after losing family and close friends.

Some nights, I found myself falling asleep smiling. Some nights laughing. As time took its predictable course, the rawness began to heal.

The loss of one life should not necessarily destroy another. We are still living and can and should have fun. Our deceased animals would most certainly want it that way. And when the time is right, there are so many unloved animals just crying out for human companionship who would be lucky to live with a caring owner. We must always focus on life.

As humans, many of us have a destructive tendency to take the good for granted and focus on the bad. We so often moan and groan at all life's ills: other people, our work, our health, losing our home, an insurmountable website glitch, or even a traffic ticket. Some of these are permanent, life-changing ills. We cannot change them and so we learn to live with them. But most are temporary, insignificant setbacks. They will pass and we dismiss them quickly.

For the many of you who are currently sharing their lives with a happy and healthy animal: be with them, watch them, play with them, train them to understand your words, chat with them. Let today be the excuse for a party. And tomorrow. And the next day.

Listen to your kids and your partner. Talk to them. Visit your parents. Appreciate the friends in your life. Reconnect with long lost loved ones.

Don’t wait for a day of grief to express your feelings for those who are close to your heart. Tell them now (words so easy to write, but often so hard to do).

Be kind to yourself. And above all, be thankful for what you have today.

In loving remembrance of Lazaretto, who brought so much joy to this world.