Long ago I coined the joke that Myth and Magesty (Majesty) surrounded me and my writing. This was because with the addition of my second rescue Labrador, I had both Myth and Magesty curling up at opposite ends of the couch while I wrote in the middle. 

Unfortunately, Myth sustained some injuries a while back that illuminated a problem with cancerous cells and growths. I've had dogs all my life, mostly labs. Of them, my Myth was among the sweetest and most obedient. She was always a soft, reassuring friend, eager to wag her tail at the slightest attention, to give soft kisses and put up with random petting of her baby soft fur any time my fingers shifted from keyboard to her.

That's not to say she always put up with it gracefully. Despite her soft, sweet demeanor, she was a bit of a control freak. If she didn't feel the attention she was getting was quite right, she'd grab the offending digits in her mouth and reposition the attention. Once I gave her the right attention in the right spot, she'd interrupt the whole process to lick the same hand, effectively preventing the attention as she tried to impress upon me her own desire to dish out affection.

We lost her very recently. 

I'd been watching carefully, because though I did not want to see her go, I also didn't want her to suffer.  Despite the growing tumors, she always seemed asymptomatic. Always sweet and quiet - other than the thumping tail. In the weeks leading up to her loss, she experienced some bouts of partial paralysis. During such times, my poor girl panicked. (Who wouldn't when half their body stopped answering and you didn't know why.)

With these episodes, I was forced to weigh losing her with her comfort. The problem was, outside these episodes, she seemed so happy and content. I didn't want to take her happiness away even though it meant saving her from the short episodes of panic and paralysis.

Now, I feel guilty for wanting to spend more time spoiling her. It's never easy to part with a member of the family. She was happy. She frolicked and played with her sister, Magesty, bouncing like a pup whenever I returned. She made no sounds of discomfort. Everything seemed fine...until it wasn't.

What's this all to do with Michael the Author?

Nothing and everything.

We spend so much time showing the world the film highlights versions of ourselves, we often wonder why anyone would also display their pain. Myth was my dear companion, someone I soundboarded with and talked about problems with. She didn't judge or make suggestions outside where to pet while I talked.

The couch isn't the same.

As for Magesty, the younger sister is hurting too. She came into the family after Myth had been alone several years, once we had a home without a pet limit. Magesty's the cuddler, but there's only one person left to cuddle. Now she's trying to figure out her new world. We both are.

Myth wasn't my only loss this month. Two other dear souls left too. Like Myth they added to the world without complaint even though they walked the world in pain. 

Emulate Myth's example. Bring love to those around you, help them know the best way to love you back, and shower them with affection - maybe even when you don't feel like it.

The ability to make the world a better place isn't only found in Myth.