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The Story of Billie Jean, by Pete Shelton
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Billie Jean & Phoebe
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"I wrote this piece as I realized Billie Jean was getting older and sicker and would either die or have to be put down. This was my attempt to start the grieving process and to honor a really special friend in my life and recovery."
BILLIE JEAN
God, I hated that dog! My daughter, Kim, found her drinking out of an overturned birdbath and brought her home. The joke for years was that her Mother had been a bird. She was part Poodle and part Schnauzer with mostly black hair and Kim named her Billie Jean. Nasty little dog!
I was using drugs back then, cocaine, and a lot of it. I would be gone for days and nights and even weeks at a time. When I would finally run out of cocaine, and money and the means to get more, it would usually be very early in the mornings. Sometimes it was five and six o’clock when I would try to quietly come in. It wasn’t that anyone cared, they had become very comfortable without me there, and didn’t much like it when I was there. I just didn’t want them any angrier by waking them up. I would think I was slipping in quietly and here she would come yap-yap-yapping her head off and she wouldn’t stop until everyone was awakened. Of course, my chasing her around to quieten her was what would wake everyone, but I always blamed it on Billie Jean. Truth be known, it might have pleased me some. At least someone paid attention to me.
When Kim got her she was a mess. She was mal-nourished and really dirty. The Vet gave her all her shots, and her hair was so matted she had to have it close-cropped to get all the tangles out. She didn’t look like she was worth a dime. When I think about it, I guess she reminded me a lot of myself. I was so into my addiction, most had given up on me and didn’t want me around. I was so obsessed with cocaine, I couldn’t take care of myself and would go for weeks and even months without a bath. I never brushed my teeth and only had one dirty pair of jeans and two shirts to my name. Come to think of it, I guess I was pretty close to hanging out at that birdbath myself. Except I don’t think anyone would have been so kind as to bring me into their home like Kim did Billie Jean.
She really didn’t like me and I didn’t like her. I remember one time Phoebe and Kim had just given her a bath and after drying her, tried to get me to feel how soft her coat was. She got away from them both and would not let me get near her. Damned dog!
We had her about a year, I guess, when one night, maybe a week or two before I went into treatment, after trying so hard to quit and finally admitting I couldn’t, Billie Jean jumped on the bed with Phoebe and me. It was late at night, and Phoebe had already gone to sleep and I was trying to put myself to sleep by watching television. She walked right up my stomach and looked down at me as if to say, “You seem to be trying real hard and it looks like you could use some support.”
Dogs seem to be able to sense things about people. At that point, if she did believe in me, she was the only one. But, she was right; I did need some support. I had completely given up. I had lost any confidence I may have ever had. I was absolutely disgusted with myself, hated myself, and a big part of me just wanted to die, but after two previous failed attempts at suicide, I just didn’t have the courage to try again. My addiction had cost me so much and yet I still craved cocaine like crazy. How appalling! I remember once wondering what it would take for me to quit using, and the only two things I could come up with were getting busted or dying from an overdose. It never entered my mind that I could find a way to quit using. I wanted to quit, but as hard as I might try, I couldn’t and I came to believe that it just wasn’t possible. My family intervened and treatment started November 23, 1985. I’ve been continuously clean since.
Billie Jean seemed to sense all of this and since that night in bed, she completely dropped the hostility she had for me and replaced it with an unconditional love she never lost. Billie Jean has been as big a part of my life and recovery as anyone. In my early recovery my family was still angry with me and didn’t know whether or not they could trust me. I desperately needed someone to believe in me and sometimes it was only Billie Jean. I was still very angry, but she never seemed to mind. She didn’t care what kind of mood I was in or how I acted; she still loved me. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know how to love myself; she still loved me.
Billie Jean was there for me when I worked on my family of origin issues, which were very painful. When I got back from The Meadows in February 1989, where I worked on having been sexually abused as a child, I was so glad she was there for me. When my Mom died, no one seemed to know what to do to help me with my grief, but Billie Jean was there with her kisses, her snuggles, her continued presence and patience. When I cried, she didn’t walk away or look away, but stayed with me as if to say, “Go ahead and cry, It’ll be all right.” I remember when Kim was in Chicago and Kurt was on the ship. She called me crying saying she was having a miscarriage and was hurting and scared. After I hung up from telling her to call 911, I felt so helpless and angry. I yelled and screamed and sat down on the bed and cried and Billie Jean jumped up in my lap and it was like she was saying, “She’ll be O.K. Trust God to be there with her.”
In September 1990, my financial losses began. I tried to keep from losing the businesses I owned but I was not prepared to suddenly take over. Over the next few months, I met with lawyers and bankers, both theirs and mine, and they all seemed to hold my destiny in their hands. We were forced into bankruptcy. We ended up losing our home of seventeen years. This was where my kids grew up, where I almost died in my addiction, and where my recovery began. We also lost the house Mother left me when she died. My Dad designed and I helped build that house. All in all, over a half a million in homes in an area where the average cost of a nice new home was around $400,000! During the bankruptcy proceedings, there were times I just didn’t have the strength or courage to go further. I’m thankful for my friends in my 12-step fellowships and my sponsor. They gave me the strength, courage and reassurance I needed. Through all this, Billie Jean was my comfort, my companion, and my friend. I did a lot of my grieving with her and she was always there for me.
Billie Jean sits at the dining room table with me, although she can no longer jump up into the chair now. I give her bites of meat, like chicken or turkey. She sits in the living room chair with me when I watch TV, and even sits with me when I go to the bathroom (no one else has even attempted to do that). She sleeps with me and I always go to sleep with her snuggling up to me and just being able to touch her helps me go to sleep. I guess I’ve spent more time with Billie Jean than any other person I know. She is about 14 or 15 years old now and is mostly blind and deaf. She has only a few teeth and doesn’t get around very well.
The family kids me about our relationship, and I know she is a pain in the butt sometimes. She can’t breathe well and goes around hacking and coughing and her medication is quite expensive. She poops and pees on the carpet more than she does on the grass. And she absolutely is a little food hound and will eat anything that is not nailed down. Sometimes I’ll reach down to scratch my leg and, because she can't see well, she will snap at my hand hoping there is some food in it. She is surely not as cute as she used to be and without the energy she used to have; she is not as playful as she once was.
I guess my biggest dilemma is in not knowing when she is ready to go. The Vet told me one of the symptoms of a dog’s pain is they don’t respond much and have little activity. I don’t know if she’s hurting or if she’s just old. “God, please don’t let her hurt...”
About two weeks before Thanksgiving, 1996, we had to put Phoebe’s dog Chassie Marie down (She was 18 years old) and it was so painful for all of us. Kim and the kids drove in from Virginia Beach and we had the funeral in our back yard the next morning. For Christmas, Kim got Phoebe a brand new Pekinese puppy and she named him Oscar.
There’s something that feels ‘disloyal’ seeing Phoebe enjoy Oscar so much so soon after Chassie’s death. I know intellectually, it’s OK and Phoebe deserves to have a new puppy to love, and I k now I’ll get another dog after Billie Jean dies. I guess I just worry that Billie Jean might not know how much she means to me... how much I love her. God knows I tell her enough (I’m not sure Billie Jean can even hear me though).
I can honestly put my vulnerability right out there with Billie Jean and be exactly who I am with her and express my undying love for her. That’s something I’m afraid to do with other ‘people’ – even Phoebe.
I know all this scares me a lot. I’ve experienced a lot of losses and just the thought of losing Billie Jean makes me cry (as I’m doing now). God, I’m tired of losses and I don’t want to lose her. I’m not sure why I’m writing this except I want to put it down in black and white how much she means to me, how important she is to me, and how much I love her. I remember early in my recovery wondering what love really is and if I was capable of loving. Billie Jean has taught me as much about love as anyone in my life. So, see I’m not talking about a dog. I’m talking about a friend, a companion, someone who has helped me through the worst times of my life and someone who has enjoyed some of the best times of my life with me. Someone who has loved me unconditionally! A family member, unlike any family member I have ever known. Do you believe in Angels? I believe in Angels. It’s not hard for me to believe Billie Jean is my Angel. How in the world do you say goodbye to an Angel?
Obituary
December 2, 1997
Billie Jean Shelton, age 16, died this afternoon at the Farragut Animal Clinic after complications from Cushing’s Disease and a lengthy struggle with ailing health. Thanks to the caring folks at Farragut Animal Clinic, she died a painless and peaceful death. She died with dignity, with her Mom and Dad loving her, her Dad holding her, and her God welcoming her with open, loving arms. She spent her entire life bringing an incredible amount of joy to those who knew and loved her and was a very important part of her Dad, Pete's life and recovery.
She was preceded in death by her sister, Chassie Marie Shelton, a year ago Thanksgiving. She will be sadly missed by her most loving Dad, Pete and her devoted Mom, Phoebe; her sister and brother-in-law, Kim and Kurt; her brother, Pete, Jr.; her dog-brother, Oscar; and her nephew and niece, Alex and Emily.
There will be a private burial for the immediate family, Thursday, December 4, 1997, but friends are encouraged to lend support wherever possible. In lieu of flowers, hugs and prayers will be accepted and appreciated.
“Goodbye, my little Angel”
The Rainbow Bridge
There is a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. It is called the Rainbow Bridge because of its many colors. Just this side of the Rainbow Bridge there is a land of meadows, hills and valleys, and lush, green grass. When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this place. There is always food and water, and warm spring weather. Those old and frail animals are young again. Those who have been maimed are made whole again. There is no pain, and they play all day with each other.
But there is only one thing missing! They are not with their special person who loved them on Earth. So, each day they run and play until the day comes when one suddenly stops playing and looks up. The nose twitches, the ears go up, the eyes are staring, and this one suddenly runs from the group. You have been seen, and when you and your special friend meet, you take him or her in your arms and embrace. Your face is kissed again and again and again as you look into the eyes of your beloved and trusted pet.
And then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together, never again to be separated.
Anonymous
Yes, it finally happened. Tuesday Phoebe was off from work and I asked her to take Billie Jean to the vet because she hadn’t been feeling well, looked bloated and was drinking an incredible amount of water. I asked Phoebe to ask Dr. Alexander whether or not it was getting to be the time. That afternoon, Phoebe called me and told me she said Billie Jean was probably hurting, she had developed Cushing’s Disease and, yes, it was time. I told Phoebe I would be home shortly and then, I just plain lost it. I worked with some wonderful folks who understood what I was facing and wanted to be able to help me through it. I cried and screamed and sobbed for I don’t know how long. Friends and co-workers came in with me and helped me through some of it. And then I drove home to take Billie Jean to the vet that one last time, and I cried all the way.
Phoebe and I got her together and began the trip to the vet. Phoebe drove and I talked to Billie Jean as best I could, saying what I wanted her to hear, knowing she probably couldn’t hear anything I was saying, but hoping she would know. I gave her about a hundred kissies, but more than anything, I wanted her to give me kissies back ... she just wasn’t up to it.
In the vet’s office, I held Billie Jean, talked to her, gave her kissies, right to the end. You know, Billie Jean always hated that trip to the vet, but this time she was calm and acted almost as if she knew what was happening. If that was the case, I’m sure she was ready for it, because she didn’t fight at all. The doctor gave her some Valium and then the shot that ended her life, and it was very peaceful for her. And then, of course, I completely broke down! God, what a lonely, sad trip home! The next day, we had a funeral and she is buried close to our other pets who have died and with a plant over her grave.
That next Thursday, I took Oscar to ‘A Bit of Class,’ the dog’s groomer. Linda the owner, asked where Billie Jean was and I showed her the obituary and she began to cry and I began to cry. Her assistant came our and began crying. A customer, Sara, came in carrying her dog and asked what happened and she began to cry, and the four of us were all standing there crying our eyes out. I’m sure it must have been a sight. I left and tried to do a little work, but went home early. That afternoon, Phoebe, after some coaxing, got me to go with her to pick up Oscar. Right after we got there, Sara from that morning came in to pick up her dog, a little Maltese named Maggie. She told me she had been thinking about me all that day. I said, “How Nice.” She went on to explain that she had been feeling guilty because she left early and got home late and Maggie was alone all day and she felt she needed someone that would spend more time with her. And she had decided I would be the one she would be OK with taking her. She just offered a purebred $800 year-old Maltese to me. Friday evening, I picked up my next true love, Maggie, who I often call MagNoodle. The Rainbow Bridge helped me so much with my grief, but now, here was someone who could give me the kissies I wanted so badly from Billie Jean. I can’t help but believe Maggie and Billie Jean were together at A Bit of Class at some point in time and worked all this out between each other. Maggie is giving me kissies from Billie Jean.
Maggie is such a sweet little girl. All the literature about Maltese says they are fragile and don’t like other pets. Maggie just took over our whole household, including Oscar. They had a ball playing together and went at it all day long. Maggie has a very distinct personality, unlike any other dog I have known. She is a jumper … she jumps straight up in the air, and high too, when she wants attention. She doesn’t quite bark; it’s more of a squeak. I tickle her tummy and she will reciprocate by licking my face, ears, head, and even all of what I have left of my hair. Someone told me she is mothering me and she doesn’t do that with anyone else. She’s hilarious. Maggie hasn’t replaced Billie Jean. Maggie has helped me deal with losing her and Maggie and I have developed a wonderful relationship of our own. One you would expect from another Angel. What a wonderful, precious gift I’ve been given. Another little Angel - she's a jewel.
And, now, MagNoodle is a little over 15 years old and can’t get around as easily as she used to, can hear well, and has cataracts in both eyes. She still loved to ride with me hold her head out the window enjoying the breeze and the wind. She really gets excited each morning when I am ready to go and I take her even if I am going to be parked for an hour or so – I just leave the car running. I know I’ll lose her just like I did Billie Jean and I know I’ll get another dog. The joy I experience owning the pets I have had in my life have been worth the horrible grief in losing them. This will be no exception. I have learned this: I let Billie Jean suffer because I didn’t want to lose her. I will never knowingly put another animal in that situation – I’ll suck it up and hand her over to God.
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The War
Something’s wrong here. I can feel it … I can sense it.
You say you love me like a salutation.
There is no touch … no embrace … not even quiet whispers.
The tension, thick as honey, hangs like bilious clouds around our very being.
We attack and defend, defend and attack.
Who started this war and how do we win or surrender?
I cry and weep but I’m afraid to say I give up.
I’ve fought so long and hard I no longer know who
The enemy is … or even if there is one.
Then, in the ominous quiet of the dawn,
There is no enemy; there is no war.
There is only this constant reunion of our ancestors
And our history.
We don’t have to give up … we simply say goodbye.
Pete Shelton
6-21-90
This was written in a very dark place in my life and when I got to the place of 'saying Goodbye,' I began to see the light. Saying 'Goodbye' was to the history and baggage, not to each other.
ON RESURRECTION DAY
On Resurrection Day your body testifies against you.
Your hand says, "I stole money."
Your lips, "I said meanness."
Your feet, "I went where I shouldn't."
Your genitals, "Me too."
They will make your praying sound hypocritical.
Let the body's doings speak openly now,
without your saying a word,
as a student's walking behind a teacher
says, "This one knows more clearly
than I the way."
RUMI (1207-1273)
Splat!
Let me describe a fantastic cartoon … by Jules Feiffer, a cartoonist for Playboy magazine back in the 60’s and 70’s.
A man meets a guru in the middle of the desert. He says, “Oh, I’ve been looking for you forever … I understand you know the way to happiness.” The berobed, bearded sage speaks not, but points to a place off in the distance. The man thrilled that he is finally going to find happiness, goes running off in that direction. After a while, there comes a loud, “Splat!”
Eventually, the man limps back tattered and stunned and assuming he must have misinterpreted the answer, asks again, “Which way is happiness?” Again, the Guru points in that direction. This time the man gets behind him and lines up with the direction the Guru is pointing so he’ll be sure to go the right way. And, off he runs.
Some time later, the "Splat" is almost deafening, and the man crawls back, bloody, broken, tattered and irate. “I asked you where happiness is,” he screams at the Guru. “I followed the direction you indicated and all I got was ‘splatted!’ No more of this pointing … I want you to tell me where is happiness!” Only then, does the Guru speak. He says, “Happiness is in that direction … it is just a little past Splat!”
We all have a tendency to go up to ‘our Splat’ and stop and back off … just like the man in the story. Whatever your personal Splat is … the horrible pain of having been abused sexually, physically or emotionally, losing something meaningful, anger and rage, etc., happiness requires that we go completely through it. Only then will we find true happiness!
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