Tim

He was born June 30, 2009.

He weighed just under 6

ounces.

His brothers and sisters all weighed

over 14 ounces.

The odds (and the vet) said that he shouldn’t have taken a first breath.

But he did.

My head (and some experts)

said to let him go.

My heart said that if he tried,

if he wanted to make it,

I would help.

He did.

And so I did.

Tube feeding: 2 weeks

Bottle: 2 more weeks

Survive?

Yes.

Sure, there were problems…

Eyes opened two weeks late.

Open fontanel until 6 weeks.

Prognosis?

Severe disabilities.

I wondered, and watched. And doubted.

He didn’t doubt.

He didn’t know That he was special.

Or fragile.Or at risk.

He knew that he was safe.

He knew that he was loved.

Hethrived.

Nothing can really be said about the joy of a Labrador that has not already been said many times.

He was all of those things.

Tim brought something more to the table that was -- well --

humbling.

He brought trustHe brought perseverance.

He brought the need for patience.

He reminded me, every day, that what matters in the dogs that we adore is not their ribbons or their titles. Tim had none of those.

Open mouthed grins, ecstatic love for me no matter how I behaved, full body wags.

Those were his gifts.

He could never jump up on the bed. He couldn’t keep up with the others as they ran through the desert. So he just grinned.

I was humbled daily by his courage.

Four and a half years of struggles and doubts and arguing with the experts.

Four and a half years of believing.

When we make a heartfelt choice,

does it matter that we don’t know

the ultimate outcome?

Does it?

Should we listen to those

who doubt?Or to our hearts?

To methe answer is clear.

With gratitude to Tim

for gracing my life with yours.

For sharing a life well loved.

Beyond expectations.

You helped me believe.

May your spirit soar, sweet Tim,

and may your memory be with

me always.6/30/09 – 1/30/14