Each of us can recall the soaring music of composer Elton John and lyrics by Tim Rice in “The Circle of Life” written for the Disney movie, The Lion King, when it is simply mentioned.
We hear the crescendo of a piano and symphony, recognize the Zulu beat and chant created by Lebo M., and feel our hearts expand with the message.
We’re All Connected
We, and not just we humans, but we as in all living beings, including plant and animal, wind and rain, flora and fauna, water and mountain are all connected. At least that’s been my experience this week.
One End of the Circle — the Sad One
Yesterday, my husband Lynn and I experienced the circle of life come to an end for our Shih Tzu Murphy. You can see our forced smiles in this picture just moments away from putting him down.
He was an old man, 115 years old by human years, if we multipled his age, 16.5 x 7 = 115. He was blind and deaf, tired and achy from arthritis, and weary from a persistent cough due to a collapsing trachea.
MEMORIES
Murphy was a champ for not barking at other dogs penned up behind gates and fences. He was rather arrogant, when he turned his head in the opposite direction from a barking dog, as if to say, “You are not worthy of my attention or response.” He never barked at the golfers that played on the 4th green just out our back yard. Yes, he barked, but not impolitely.
He greeted company at our house with enthusiasm and a sniff at their feet. Then he would settle back to his living room bed (Or throne, should I say?). He never jumped up on guests or begged at the table.
He was good with other dogs on the street. Sniff one end, then the other, then go on his way. We walked with
different dogs on the street, sometimes 4-5 of them at a time. He was the elder of the street and perhaps “King.”
Murphy was a very polite little boy, turned old man.
He was active in his younger years. When we’d toss a ball from one of us to another, Murphy would take off in that kind of “running close to the ground” die trying to catch the ball from us.
He tried to chase the squirrels, but darn it all, he couldn’t climb that dog-gone tree. He even took off after a small herd of deer on the golf course one day. I was worried he’d get hit by a soaring golf ball, while he was single-mindedly focused on the white tail of those deer.
But he was a bossy little guy from early on. It took me 2 weeks to potty train our first dog in 1985 but 9 months to train Murph in 2009. As a smart boy, he learned all the commands and would hesitatingly conduct them.
The command that was key to his safety, COME, was the one he refused to honor. He’d plant all 15 pounds of him, as if he had four-wheel braking power, and yank my arm off, if on lease, or sit stubbornly on the other side of the street from me.
Some neighbors called him independent, reluctant, a dog with a mind of his own. I called him, my stubborn little shit. I loved him, but found him more recalcitrant as the years went by.
He has been our little buddy for 16.5 years and we missed him dearly this morning, when he didn’t arrive in the kitchen for his splash of milk and dry food, his trip out to potty and to gain his first treat.
The Other End of the Circle — the Cheerful One
Earlier this summer the barn swallows returned to our house after providing us 3 sets of babies last year after the tragic July 4th, 2025 Guadalupe River flooded here in Kerrville, Texas. Those baby birds gave me solace after the community’s loss of lives and river landscape.
In recent weeks, the barn swallows have built a new nest, laid eggs, and the female has nested deeply in the home they created for their new family. This specie of birds mate, but others also help out. The male and female share the load in varying ways.
A GIFT
Today, 24 hours after we gave up Murphy, the female barn swallow that had roosted deeply in the nest is sitting higher. I see more of her profile.
And then I see her and her mate taking turns depositing nourishment to apparent new baby birds. Their little becks have yet to tower above the side of the nest.
What a gift of nature, of our connectedness to the natural world.
God knew Lynn and I needed something to distract us from the loss of Murphy with the start of new life just outside our kitchen window. We are grateful!