Soulmates to a Yearning, Deep and Restless

We share a yearning, deep and restless.

It’s there, threaded through our days and years, often hidden too well within. Perhaps tucked away out of humility; maybe because we don’t want to come across as vulnerable or inadequate. Yet we all have this tenacious longing that seems to lack a singular word or just a simple name. 

Wrapped up in this yearning we find companionship and presence, empathy and affection, even unconditional love. In some seasons and days, this yearning is assuaged and satiated; in others it awakens like the harsh breezes boding the oncoming front and the storm it bears. And all we can seem to be are vessels of its impulses and instincts.

Today is December 2nd, 2024. The last day like it for me, in one significant sense, was October 31st, 1997. That date (which also happened to be T-minus one year until Lydia was born) was the last day I would have a home without a pet living in it.

Shiloh, my first pet since leaving home, was a shetland sheepdog. I chanced upon him on Saturday Nov 1st at the Bangor Humane Society. Having had a sheltie in our family growing up, I was thrilled to find this little guy at a shelter! 

Muffin was Lydia’s kitty, a gift on her 7th birthday in 2005. She too was adopted from an animal shelter – in Franklin, Tenn. Intending to adopt an orange cat, seeing her gorgeous calico colors won my heart that day. In September 2016 Lydia adopted the first of her four pocket pets: Ducky, followed by Koda 9 months later, then the boys – Rocket and Reepicheep the next summer. While Muffin was surprisingly unimpressed with the pet rats, the feeling wasn’t mutual whenever they saw her.

Shiloh was about 3 when I adopted him, and when he passed away in 2010 he had reached close to 15 years. (Muffin would continue to live a good cat life until her passing in 2018. As for the “critters,” their short life spans of 2 to 3.5 years are what they are. Koda was the last to say goodbye, in August 2020.) Back in 2012, two years after Shiloh’s passing, someone else came along. 

Lydia wanted us to have another dog, and I was being stubborn about it. I wasn’t sure I’d gotten over Shiloh, and I couldn’t imagine having another faithful companion like him. As she scoured the web for pups, I gave her that timeless guidance from the ages: “Just remember, the bigger the pup, the bigger the poop.” (This may be why she gave up on getting a German Shepherd.) Then one day in May of that year, when Josiah was barely 4 years old, Lydia stumbled upon quite a find: Sheltie pups!

“Friday” was adopted into our family May 13th. I hadn’t had a puppy like that in my life since Misty was adopted at Christmas in 1977. He was sweet, cuddly, surprising destructive with those teeny little teeth, and full of energy. Just as Shiloh accommodated a kitty in his life, Muffin didn’t protest too much with Friday. 

Beth came up with the names of both dogs. For Shiloh, I was leaning toward “Romeo” because he was handsome and charming, as well as “Comet” because he was fast. The name “Friday” was chosen among various options because “It’s hard to be mad and say ‘Friday,’ because everyone loves Fridays!” (Great theory, and yet he certainly found ways to occasionally crater that line of thinking.)

Even so, how could this puppy grow into something remotely approaching the sweet and gentle fluff ball who came home with me 14.5 years earlier? Would he be half the playmate and comforter my Shiloh had been? Would he be the sweet, curious host who would gladly meet guests and passers by? 

How much of that yearning, deep and restless stirred from a long season of calm into midwinter heartache could he mollify and soothe?

Well, as I mentioned earlier… 

Today is December 2nd, 2024. The last day like it for me, in one significant sense, was October 31st, 1997 – the last full day I would have a home without a pet living in it.

Yesterday, on the first of December, peacefully and in my arms my sweet precious boy passed away.

He was 12 years, 8 months old. He was full of energy and play through the summer. He continued to show kindness to strangers and friends alike into his final days despite his kidney disease.

There are simply not enough words, but you may find them in previous social media posts. Every photo shared has at least 1,000 words of their own. But to simply state it, more than enough.

More than enough, that’s how much. Friday was more than able to mollify and soothe that yearning… 
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In my darkest hours he was with me, never questioning my tears.

On many excursions and adventures, he gladly came along for the ride.

Working from home, he was at my side or just outside my home office door – unless we took a play break to play tag in the living room, fetch with his squeaky ball out back, or play “towel of war” with old beach towels.

And our walks, two to three times a day around our “Mayberryesque” streets were a joy for us both – and for anyone who was blessed to have him come up and greet them along the way. In fact, Friday was such a good boy that he was able to go for walks without a leash (though we brought it in case the occasional random dog-party started to go sideways or a passer-by mistook him for a sabertooth capybara). We often sit together on a bench at our neighborhood fountain, especially after dark, to take in the moonlight and stars, or so he could explore around a bit and let kids pet him.

In times yet to be, I may share more stories and pictures of my Friday…
Born on a Wednesday.
Chose us on a Sunday. 
Came home on a Tuesday.

And so it has been, as it was with my years with Shiloh, that for another long season in my life, I needed unconditional love, affection and empathy, presence and companionship… yet another soulmate to the yearning hidden within me.

Thank God our Father understands, even feels, this yearning more than I ever will. 
Thank God He provided who I needed at the right time, more than I could’ve ever known.

Thank God it was Friday.

Copyright © 2024 Joe Cranford. All rights reserved.