Love Through Amber Eyes

By Debra Cummings

This book is for anyone who has ever loved a dog. For anyone who truly knows that there is no greater love on this earthly plane than the love a dog radiates. Each dog in this story has been an exceptional teacher and mentor for how to live life fully and to simply Be. I am deeply grateful for the unconditio

• Language: English
• Publisher: Debra Cummings
• Release date: Nov 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9780998647319

Debra Cummings

Debra Cummings is dedicated to sharing the miracles that have transformed her life. Her interests include animals, farming, nature, technology, shoes, and a deep desire for a kinder, more gentle way of life for people and animals. Debra lives in California with her husband, three dogs, three cats, and fifteen sheep.

Book preview

LOVE THROUGH

AMBER EYES

Debra Cummings

Copyright © 2020 by Debra Cummings

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2020

Paperback

978-1-64184-431-4

eBook

978-1-64184-432-1

Dedication

Anyone who has ever loved a dog, truly knows that there is no greater love on this earthly plane than the love our canine companions radiate. Each one of my dogs has been an exceptional teacher and mentor for how to live life fully and how to simply Be. I am deeply grateful for the unconditional love, direction and support provided by my beloved dogs. For without them, I would have fallen further, failed without hope, and I would not have seen how brightly the Light shines.

Clyde, this is for you.

Contents

The Presence of Clyde

When Life Must Go On

My Love Began Before Clyde

The Energy of Pepper

Come Find Me

Border Collies and Potato Chips

Get a Clue

Border Collie Life

The Heartbreak

Dr. B

Sheep

Gus

The Invisible One

My Guardians

The Circle of Life

Losing Clyde

Is God Out to Get Me?

Some Angels Have Tails

The Beginning of the End

Fall of My Life

Super Glue

One Less Dog

Canine Harmony

Epilogue

About the Author

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The Presence of Clyde

There have been so many losses, but losing Clyde was the one that tore me to shreds. Reminders of his loss are everywhere and it’s like having a cut on my knuckle. Every clench of my fist deepens the cut and causes a burst of pain. Every thought of him weakens my knees and makes me collapse into a dark, bottomless pit of grief. I’ve wondered if his massive size is what made his loss even harder. Spanish Mastiffs are typically huge, at well over 200 pounds of muscle and bone covered by loose, droopy skin. Maybe it was his size that made Clyde’s absence feel like grief on steroids.

I’ve said goodbye to many dogs and it’s always hard, but how can that hideous, gut-wrenching pain of losing Clyde still be so present? I mean it’s been almost two years! April sixth, 2017—the day I wish didn’t exist. It was the day I got his blood test results and I had to make that final call to the vet. You would think I’d have gotten over it by now.

Have you ever hurt so bad you could taste the pain? The agony of Clyde’s passing is that immense and that present in my mind. I can still taste it on my tongue. It’s salty and bitter and makes me wish I could spit it out. When I think about his loss, I can’t breathe. Sometimes I wish I could just stop breathing to escape the pain. I’m not one to go around saying life isn’t fair! But when it comes to Clyde, it’s different. He should still be here. He was only three years old.

And here I was, worrying about dying before he did. I was always worried my dogs would outlive me and would have to be rehomed. Who would take them? Who COULD take them? Who would treat them as well as I did? Who would love them as much as I did? Dogs like Clyde were not easy to own. And no one could love them as much as I did. It just wouldn’t be possible.

When I found Clyde lying in the yard next to my office and barely moving, it threw me. Something was wrong. I always knew he was a little different, but looking back, I guess he was never quite normal. Even when I first got him. A sensitive dog. That’s what the breeder said. He was sensitive. So, I just figured it was his personality that slowed him down a little. And being a picky eater, he turned away his food on occasion. And he seemed a little depressed now and then. He was just a sensitive dog.

When Life Must Go On

Damn it all. Why am I thinking about Clyde now? I don’t have time for this. There’s already too much crap to do today. I’m low on alfalfa. There are buckets to scrub and the pasture needs mowing. Which reminds me, I need to ride over to the barn and retrieve the gas can so I can fill the mower. And while I’m there, I’ll see if one of the boys can put some air in the back tire of the Gator. There’s a limit on what I’m willing to do and the air compressor scares the bejeesus out of me. That’s where I draw the line. There’s a leak in the line and the compressor turns on with a blast when you least expect it. I guarantee it would make you jump, too.

I’m not sure if having Scott and Chris living here on the ranch is a blessing or a curse. It’s a blessing for me and Steve because we love having the boys nearby but I’ve often wondered if it’s a curse for them. Who in hell wants their parents breathing down their necks all the time, asking for favors like putting air in the tire of the Gator? But hey, that’s what kids are for, isn’t it? For doing all the stuff you don’t want to do yourself.

I can’t waste my time sitting here, sobbing like a baby with dirt-streaked rivers running down my face. This happens every time the thought of Clyde crosses my mind. I’ve tried my damndest to push away any thoughts of him but once a memory is triggered, I lose it. It doesn’t take much to make me flash back to when he was still here with me, an old knuckle bone hidden beneath the leaves of an avocado tree. A faded old toy that he had claimed as his, buried in a dark, black-widow infested corner of the barn. The water trough—he’d get in the trough to get a drink of water with his grizzly sized, muddy paws. The trough would get so filthy, I’d have to scrub it every day when