Animals have always been a way of life with my family. I never thought of myself as an “only child” because our pets were my playmates and confidants. I cannot remember any family high spot, or crisis, or joy, or sorrow that didn’t include whatever pets we had at the time. More than once in my life I have dried my tears on soft, silky ears! This was never more true than when my husband, Allen Ludden, died.
Life does not come equipped with an instruction manual, and neither does death. Allen and I had worked together on and off during almost eighteen years of marriage, but in our private life we were always very much a team. As well as lovers, we were each other’s critic, editor, fan and friend. While we had had two long years to get used to the idea, when he died I was shattered. My first instinct was to crawl away somewhere to mourn in private. But there were two other gentlemen in my life, my dogs, Timmy, a coal-black miniature poodle, and Sooner, a Labrador-golden retriever mix. They missed Allen, too, but were not about to let me just wither away.
Pets, I discovered long ago, always seem to know what a person is feeling. After Allen’s death there was a wonderful outpouring of love and sympathy from our family and friends, all the people we had worked with over the years, plus hundreds of people we had never met but who had come to know how special he was through watching him on television. My mother was incredible in her support, knowing just when to move in, and when to stand back and give me the little space I needed. But still, whenever anybody was around, even those who were the closest, I felt obligated to keep up appearances and try not to show my grief. I suppose that was from not wanting to make them feel even sadder worrying about me. Such games we humans play! Of course I was grieving! My life had been torn apart! And while I was able to put on a great show of strength for my friends and family, I could not pull the same act with Timothy and Sooner. They knew me too well; they could read me loud and clear.
Sensing that Allen’s death had left me badly wounded, Timothy and Sooner snuggled in to help. Not that I was so willing to cooperate, at least at first. But can anyone say no to a little black pest who keeps throwing his favorite toy at you, or to a seventy-pound “leaner” who is adamant that dinner is already thirty minutes late?
I had continued to work right up until three days before Allen’s death, beginning and ending each day at the hospital. All at once the pattern changed, and the purpose was gone. I had no interest in “lights, camera, makeup,” or much of anything else, for that matter. It was, therefore, up to Sooner and Timothy to take over organizing my day. Their needs became my needs. They gave my life definition - a reason to get up in the morning, a firm grasp on today when so much of me wanted to turn back the clock to yesterday. Timothy and Sooner got me through that first week, the first month, the first year - all those terrible “firsts.”
Looking at my life I see many segments: childhood, an early marriage, ten years of being a single career girl, then my life with Allen. Move in a little closer and there are segments within segments: Allen well, Allen ill, and then, life without Allen. I have discovered that while I can never forget such a loss, I have, with time, pulled my life together. I am working full tilt, exploring new activities, taking new challenges.
I suppose, in the final analysis, I have invested a lot of time and love in animals over the years. But I have reaped such a great return on each investment. For through the many stages of my life, my feeling for animals has been an unwavering constant... a dependable reservoir of comfort and love.
- Betty White