Page 76 - How We Lead Matters

Lika & Tutu

One late autumn afternoon at sunset, when I was particularly distraught and
frightened about my son’s liver transplant, I bundled myself up and went
down by the lake to have a good cry. A few minutes later, I heard the pound-
ing of running footsteps on the dock. It was our dog Lika, who leaped into
my arms and pressed herself close. At that moment, I felt that we shared a
heart.
Lika was extraordinarily perceptive. When my husband and I would
“have words,” Lika would choose sides. Standing close to one or the other,
she would position herself between us as if to guard the one who most needed
protection. She wasn’t always on my side, and she wasn’t always on Glen’s
side. Lika was fair-minded and, as we’ve reflected since, often correct in her
assessment of who was right and who was wrong.
Lika died. We now have a dog named Tutu who has an obvious bias.
I try not to notice, but Tutu makes it pretty clear that she would be
quite content if I were out of the picture. If I’m not there, she jumps into my
seat in the car. She’ll try to sit in my chair at the table. I’ve heard tales of her
slipping into my side of the bed when I’m out of town.
Simply put, she has eyes only for Glen. It’s not that I don’t understand
the attraction, but does she have to be so obvious with her affection?
I think so. This is, after all, the dog’s gift to us: unfailing, exuberant,
goofy, lovesick adoration.
Did I mention that I really miss Lika?

Marilyn Carlson Nelson 59