Valentine’s Day, Alone

Valentine’s Day. Permission to briefly set aside mental acrobatics and just feel. Over the years, I’ve gone from Elvis’ “Can’t Help Falling in Love” to the lesbian version of Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” And after we won marriage equality, I shed happy tears to “Same Love” by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis and Mary Lambert, even though I was alone.

The truth is – my longest relationship lasted five years. I don’t need therapy to tell me it’s my fault. I always secretly hoped that each woman would rekindle the flames of my first love. Yes, she was straight and it was incredibly complicated – but it was also the Age of Aquarius and for this budding Aquarian hippy-wannabe, it was mythologically perfect, as doomed as I subconsciously knew it was.

So, Valentine’s Day always had a slight shade of pain.

But I had my dogs. I didn’t need romance – I needed love. And over the years, what happy times we had, watching some action movie and sharing the crust of a great Hawaiian pizza.

I thought this Valentine’s Day would be the same. Actually – Pepper, my 18-year-old Cairn Terrier, has been my longest relationship of all. I rescued her when she was five. She was Sparky then, living in a Latino family, beloved by a young teenage boy who called her Sparky. But one of their two other dogs didn’t like her so they had to give her up for her own safety.

The boy tried so hard not to cry when they dropped her off – but Sparky wailed and wailed. My neighbors looked out to see what was wrong. I did what I could to ease her sense of abandonment. I even learned a little Spanish and changed her name so she wouldn’t be retraumatized every time I called for her. My other poodle-ish dog Charlie and I had to wait for her to trust us.

In time, Pepper and Charlie bonded. When he got sick, I took her to hang out with him in the hospital, bringing her home at night. Charlie died of a seizure overnight without us.

Not long after, my friend Gloria Nieto called to see if I would be interested in adopting this little boy dog who needed a new home asap. Gloria lived in the Santa Cruz area so we decided to meet halfway in San Luis Obispo to see if the two dogs got along. They did, Papa D came home with us, and I became friends with Papa D’s heartbroken mom on Facebook.

Pepper and renamed DeeJ bonded quickly, with Pepper becoming something of a mother. One time I was surreptitiously watching them play at a wonderful doggie day care on Ventura Boulevard. The attendant wasn’t in the room when a bigger dog started menacing DeeJ, who backed into a corner, shaking. Pepper went and sat next to DeeJ but when the bigger dog didn’t back off, Pepper, who was also scared, got on her belly like a supplicant and crawled between the bigger dog and DeeJ. I ran back inside to get them and take them home to West Hollywood.

I’ve never forgotten Pepper’s incredible bravery, inspired by love. When DeeJ died, we were both bereft. At times, we would independently hear a sound like a bowl being moved in the kitchen and look up, expecting DeeJ to come out and bound across the floor at any moment. Then we’d hug.

After a while, I adopted Keely, who was deaf. Keely wasn’t interested in bonding with Pepper. But she wasn’t with us very long – she had a massive cancerous tumor and the prognosis for survival after surgery wasn’t good with her other ailments.

After Keely died, I decided Pepper would be the only dog. The two of us, alone. And despite having Cushings, having to undergo surgery for a small tumor, developing kidney disease and starting the beginning stages of doggie dementia – Pepper was doing incredibly well.

And she was incredibly sensitive to my moods. The other day, Wednesday, Feb. 11, after we’d come home from her grooming, I tuned into ice dancing at the Olympics. The Canadian couple skated so beautifully to “Starry, Starry Night,” tears started streaming down my face. Pepper bolted up, looking at me quizzically but with doggie empathy before coming over to lick my tears and give me kisses.

The song stuck with me, looking at the waning crescent moon as we went on our brief nightly walk. In the carport before we came home, we ran into our neighbor and her young Shih Tzu from the building next door when another neighbor and his big dog came down the ally. Suddenly – in a flash - the big dog jumped up, tearing off his leash, and lunged towards the Shih Tzu. Seconds later, she jumped onto Pepper.

We all freaked. I was knocked down in the struggle to free Pepper. By the time I got to her, she was listless and bleeding - but still had a pulse. Another neighbor madly dashed us to the Emergency vet as I told Pepper how much I loved her and to please stay with me. But she couldn’t. She died in my arms.

I was devastated but not freaked out - I’ve held dying friends and dying dog/kids before. But the sudden violence I was powerless to prevent made this different. My apartment was suddenly big and empty and quiet – even with TV politics in the background. Images of Pepper’s bloody body lying on the concrete blinded me. I blurted out her name and reached for where just hours earlier she snored softly, her skinny aging body snuggling next to mine. I changed channels, looking for something comfortably mind-numbing. Unbelievably, I came upon a replay of the Olympics and “Starry, Starry Night.”

After a sleepless night, I had a 12 Step phone call with a friend who lost her precious cat last May. She suggested that this first stage of denial was akin to the deep, difficult First Step of surrendering. That made sense to my journalist/observer side who advised my jumbled emotional side to be patient and, as 12 Steppers say, “feel the feelings” when the come.

This June, I’ll be 46 years clean and sober. But I now feel like a newcomer again. That’s good because it gives me permission to be weak, to acknowledge that I need help and accept the love that’s being so generously offered.

And here’s where this tragedy becomes extraordinary.

Early in the morning, my 12 Step neighbor – who’s 88, BTW! – knocked on my door. She brought a bag of food from someone from the building next door who was among the slew of neighbors who rushed out hearing our anguished cries. She said it felt like community – even though we only knew each other through our dogs. I was Pepper’s mom.

And this made me hesitant to report what happened. As I struggled to get up and get to Pepper – I saw the father of this big dog hold him tightly and breakdown. “I can’t lose another one,” he cried over and over to his wife. Apparently, he just lost his father. We all didn’t need a second tragedy. But Pepper’s death was a preventable fatal accident and he still had to be accountable.

I struggled with this. Knowing him as a dog-loving neighbor, I suspected he and his family were devastated. So, I forgave him and the big dog, who was so sweet on the street. I then called several neighbors, thanking them and asking for advice. One neighbor felt it was important to report because this dog had bitten two other dogs over the years and what if this dog attacked a person. Another neighbor understood my dilemma and offered to back me up, no matter what – but said she no longer felt safe in the community.

And there it was. Yes, my feelings mattered – probably tied to my guilt at not being able to protect Pepper as this man was trying to protect his dog/child from certain execution. But community mattered more.

Then the big dog’s mother called, totally devastated and deeply apologetic. They have two young daughters who they’re trying to teach about doing “the right thing” so they had already called Animal Control to report what happened and find out what to do next. I told her that I forgave them – but they had to be mindful of community safety. I also asked her to please teach their children that not every bad event demands rage and retaliation in response. Love and understanding are really important right now.

She cried and called back later to say they had decided to put their beloved big dog down themselves so they could say goodbye as a family. Our community has responded with empathy and support for them now, too.

So, while I continue to struggle with feeling my feelings and realize that this Valentine’s Day, I really am alone – I also feel surrounded by love, including from my MAGA friends, and thinking of DeeJ and Pepper reunited.

There is something going on. Not just here, in our little corner of West Hollywood embracing tragedy and forgiveness; or in anti-ICE protests remembering Renee Good and Alex Pretti; or the almost universal outpouring of love and joy in Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime concert.

We the People are embracing and uplifting our own and each other’s humanity.

Sing it with me: “What the world needs now is love, sweet love. It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of.”

Happy new Valentine’s Day!

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