Cinnamon: An Angel on her Shoulder

by Linda Clyne

“No dog can ever replace another. But one dog can take over the

responsibilities and duties of another. Dogs have a keen sense of

fitness and propriety.” MacKinlay Kantor

It was too soon to bring another dog into the house. Heidi had been gone for only two short weeks, and our dining table memorialized her with photographs, flowers and cards. So many times I had cursed the mounds of soft hair that covered our wood floors; now they had become treasures to be collected from corners and tucked lovingly into plastic bags. Only a dog of immense courage could venture into such an atmosphere; and it took an act of courage to extend the invitation to Cinnamon.

Yet I felt compelled to act upon my own conviction that the best tribute you can give a beloved friend is to open your heart to another. Cinnamon’s picture at the mall had caught my attention months earlier, and the MCHS website described a dog whose need for long walks and hugs meshed perfectly with my own.

It didn’t take long for Cinnamon to make herself quite at home. She patiently curled into a tight ball on Heidi’s old bed until her own, larger version arrived by mail order. She happily slurped and splashed water from a too-small dish until that, too, could be replaced. Her tail wagged constantly and she followed me everywhere. She seemed instinctively to understand how to fit in. Our house was once again filled with dog sounds, dog smells, dog routines. But our affection for Cinnamon was still overshadowed by a sense of sadness. I wondered if I had acted too hastily, if I was being fair to her. Every time I hugged “Cindy” I felt I was cheating on Heidi.

One day I noticed that all the flowers on Heidi’s table were dead except for one perfect, white lily. As I prepared that last lily for pressing I realized the room had become unnaturally quiet. I turned to look for Cinnamon. She stood just inches behind me, tall and erect, intently watching my every move, yet perfectly still. As I knelt down to place the waxed paper package between the pages of a heavy book on the floor, she, too, sat down, maintaining the same respectful distance. Silent tears streamed down my cheeks as I finished my task and turned toward the dog who had so bravely accepted the challenge of helping us heal. Gently she lifted first one paw and then the other onto my shoulders and stared deeply into my eyes. And then, as she gently licked my face, I understood.

When we find ourselves laughing – or crying – because something about Cinnamon reminds us of Heidi, it is because Cinnamon is not alone in our house. Heidi is the angel on Cinnamon’s shoulder, coaching her, guiding her, teaching her all the right moves. They are working together as friends. It is because Heidi gave us the gift of love that we can now let that love grow toward Cinnamon. She understands that. In time we will, too. Thank you, Heidi. And welcome home, Cinnamon.  

(c) 1999 Linda Clyne