| Frosty Lessons © Betty Sue Eaton |
It is my belief that pets can and do teach us every day how to live if only we pay
attention and learn the lessons they are showing us! We have lost several dogs to
extreme illness and remember each one as the special friend they were, and I truly
believe they taught me as much about surviving as anyone or anything I have known.
Three years ago, we had to have our beloved 13-year old miniature poodle, Di, put
down because of a massive toxic infection. She had refused food for a week and had
even attacked our toy poodle, Frosty, a younger and more gregarious little guy. Di was
in awful pain and each time she looked at us, we could see it in her eyes as though
she were pleading for us to let her go.
Afterward, Frosty prowled the house searching for his older housemate high and low.
He missed her terribly even though she resented him coming into our home from the
start. She made his life miserable by her behavior. When he was finally trained to use
the doggy door in our bedroom, Di would lie in the hall to prevent his passage to it.
When we let him out the living room door and he tried to reenter through the doggy
door, she would lie in front of it in our bedroom and snarl at him as his nose poked
through the flap. Finally, he just gave up attempts to use the door at all.
Finally after months of looking for her, he accepted her absence and devoted all his
love to us and we returned it equally. He never again tried to use the doggy door nor
jump on our bed at night where she used to sleep. He did, however, take his naps
during the day on a throw we had in front of the fireplace for Di, and since I didn't
launder it for weeks after we lost Di, Frosty was comforted by her scent on it. He just
lay on it looking dolefully out at us as we looked dolefully back at him.
Now he is 10 and is blind, has a severely enlarged heart, fluid on his lungs, and last
summer, developed epilepsy, and for all of those afflictions he takes several
medications. I administer them in small pieces of cheese after asking, “Frosty, want
a piece of cheese?� He always runs to take his medicine!
What does all this have to do with recovering from our own grief? Everything. Frosty
takes his medicine willingly trying to cope with his illness. He plays and romps like a
carefree puppy when he feels up to it. He sleeps when he should, eats when he wants
to, takes care of his own hygiene and toilet needs, and always gives us unbounded
love, joy, and loyalty.
When we are faced with the finality of losing someone in death, we should follow
Frosty's example: Take the promises of God to heart as His words are the medicines
we need to recover from the shock. They do not deny that we have suffered a great
loss but they do help us to deal positively with it.
Like Frosty, we can enjoy life when we can, despite being in deep mourning. Laughter
allows us to release pent up emotions and relieve tensions. Even when laughing so
hard that we end up shedding tears, it is a great rejuvenator of the spirit. No one will
deny that sleeping takes much less energy than keeping up with daily life, but like
Frosty, we should use our time to more constructive use than languishing in bed long
after our quota of sleep and rest have been satisfied. After eight hours of sleep, Frosty
will vocally remind us that it is time for him to come out of his little cage for his food and
play, and his place in front of our chairs when we sit. Likewise, we should try our best
to continue with our daily routines and find our place before Jesus' feet continually.
Perhaps not the least of Frosty's messages to us is the fact that losing Di did not
diminish his love for us, nor her, by one iota! Neither should we lose one iota of love
or memory for our deceased dear one, but especially not those loved ones who remain
with us to help encourage us to continue to live a full life every day.
That is what God would want us to do.
attention and learn the lessons they are showing us! We have lost several dogs to
extreme illness and remember each one as the special friend they were, and I truly
believe they taught me as much about surviving as anyone or anything I have known.
Three years ago, we had to have our beloved 13-year old miniature poodle, Di, put
down because of a massive toxic infection. She had refused food for a week and had
even attacked our toy poodle, Frosty, a younger and more gregarious little guy. Di was
in awful pain and each time she looked at us, we could see it in her eyes as though
she were pleading for us to let her go.
Afterward, Frosty prowled the house searching for his older housemate high and low.
He missed her terribly even though she resented him coming into our home from the
start. She made his life miserable by her behavior. When he was finally trained to use
the doggy door in our bedroom, Di would lie in the hall to prevent his passage to it.
When we let him out the living room door and he tried to reenter through the doggy
door, she would lie in front of it in our bedroom and snarl at him as his nose poked
through the flap. Finally, he just gave up attempts to use the door at all.
Finally after months of looking for her, he accepted her absence and devoted all his
love to us and we returned it equally. He never again tried to use the doggy door nor
jump on our bed at night where she used to sleep. He did, however, take his naps
during the day on a throw we had in front of the fireplace for Di, and since I didn't
launder it for weeks after we lost Di, Frosty was comforted by her scent on it. He just
lay on it looking dolefully out at us as we looked dolefully back at him.
Now he is 10 and is blind, has a severely enlarged heart, fluid on his lungs, and last
summer, developed epilepsy, and for all of those afflictions he takes several
medications. I administer them in small pieces of cheese after asking, “Frosty, want
a piece of cheese?� He always runs to take his medicine!
What does all this have to do with recovering from our own grief? Everything. Frosty
takes his medicine willingly trying to cope with his illness. He plays and romps like a
carefree puppy when he feels up to it. He sleeps when he should, eats when he wants
to, takes care of his own hygiene and toilet needs, and always gives us unbounded
love, joy, and loyalty.
When we are faced with the finality of losing someone in death, we should follow
Frosty's example: Take the promises of God to heart as His words are the medicines
we need to recover from the shock. They do not deny that we have suffered a great
loss but they do help us to deal positively with it.
Like Frosty, we can enjoy life when we can, despite being in deep mourning. Laughter
allows us to release pent up emotions and relieve tensions. Even when laughing so
hard that we end up shedding tears, it is a great rejuvenator of the spirit. No one will
deny that sleeping takes much less energy than keeping up with daily life, but like
Frosty, we should use our time to more constructive use than languishing in bed long
after our quota of sleep and rest have been satisfied. After eight hours of sleep, Frosty
will vocally remind us that it is time for him to come out of his little cage for his food and
play, and his place in front of our chairs when we sit. Likewise, we should try our best
to continue with our daily routines and find our place before Jesus' feet continually.
Perhaps not the least of Frosty's messages to us is the fact that losing Di did not
diminish his love for us, nor her, by one iota! Neither should we lose one iota of love
or memory for our deceased dear one, but especially not those loved ones who remain
with us to help encourage us to continue to live a full life every day.
That is what God would want us to do.
| A Christian Grief Ministry |
100's of Inspirational Grief Poems and Stories |