Hiking in BC
Kismet’s Wonderful Life Video
We know when we make the decision to bring a pet into our lives that we are making a commitment for the rest of that animal’s (or our) life. And given that dogs and cats live significantly shorter lives than we do, we are almost guaranteed to have to say goodbye at some point. This week, I said my final farewell to Kismet, my cherished Tibetan Terrier whom I rescued 15 years ago when he was a feisty, frolicky one year old. To see his story, go HERE. 
Even as a youngster, Kismet was an old soul. With deep, dark, wisdom-soaked eyes, he could reach into the depths of your soul with the intensity of a deity explaining life’s meaning. With Kismet’s unbreaking stare, it was his disciple that unwittingly looked away first. He often seemed deep in thought, and I wished I could go inside his head to share his ponderings. It was because of the expression on his face that Jeff and I dubbed him our “serious little man.”
Explaining the Meaning of Life
But for all his intenseness, Kismet portrayed joy with equal zeal. He ran with gusto, barked like a freight train and licked like a child savoring an ice cream cone. It was not only Jeff and me he licked. Perfect strangers were often the recipients of his slatherings, as well. Our running joke was “Kismet can’t handle his licker.”
Of the things he loved, Kismet especially adored a good butt-rub. He would drop down on his forelegs, rear-end raised in the air, and playfully growl until someone scratched his “sweet-spot” just above his tail. People often misunderstood this posturing until they were told what he was requesting, but when they obliged him, they had a friend for life. Kizzy also loved boat rides, and always claimed his spot at the front of the bow, ears blowing in the wind. His joy was a sight to behold.
He was my protector, and if he sensed ill-will in anyone, he did his best to hold them at bay. He never (well, once) bit anyone, but his bark was enough to ward off evil-doers. He was protective of his sister, Roxie, as well, and once shielded her from a pack of curious dogs at a Doggy Day-Care.
Camping
Chillin’
Kismet had his share of medical traumas, and underwent not one but three surgeries for torn knee ligaments. He was also an unwitting victim of Rimadyl toxicity (He nearly died, but emergency vets and $6000 healed him). Clearly, it was not his time, and he bounded back from each ordeal ready to take on the world once again. But in time, Kismet grew tired. The delight disappeared from his once-shining eyes. The prance in his gait was reduced to an amble, and he preferred the escape of sleep to life explorations. He no longer could do what brought him joy, and together, we made the decision that his time in this world, in my world, had come to an end. 
For all his silliness, depth, loyalty and his love, Kismet was, first and foremost, my best friend. He helped me at a time that I thought I couldn’t go on any longer. And in the end, it was my duty, my obligation, to help him cross the rainbow bridge, where he could once again frolic in the sun, free of pain and disease. He made his transition with the help of a gentle, caring vet, peacefully at home, in my lap, surrounded by Jeff, Roxie and Chance. I love you Kismet. You will forever hold a special place in my heart. I’ll see you on the other side, Little Man.
