The Lions of Sunset

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It was a late hot and sunny summer day. The shadows were long, and the welcomed breeze felt cool. I was walking Oreo, my German Short-haired Pointer. We were taking our usual walk down Sunset Road. Avoiding the church, we cut through the park, walked around the double baseball field, and out to the parking lot at the opposite end of the grounds. Before we made it to the street, I jerked up on the leash, stopping us both dead in our tracks. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. In the middle of the street, lying under the shade of the Elm trees, were two male lions. “Father and son,” I said, looking down into Oreo’s big blue eyes. The number four appeared over her head. Alarmed, I tried to run back. But I couldn’t turn around and Oreo wouldn’t budge. We had to face the lions head-on. Too frightened to walk past them, I woke up.

The dream shook me to my core, and I thought about it for a long while. Oreo and I did that walk every day. Nothing in the dream was different or out of place, not even my clothing — khaki shorts, white t-shirt, and white sneakers — my standard summer attire. Up until the lions, everything about the dream looked and felt incredibly real. But what do the lions mean? I wondered. And what’s up with the number four? Realizing the dream had some significant meaning, I wrote it down in my journal and went back to sleep.

For weeks the dream haunted me. I read books about the meaning and symbolism of dreams, and Googled, ‘dreams about lions.’ But nothing I read provided any insight. So, I turned to my friend for help.

“Maybe you can’t find the significance of the dream because you didn’t finish it,” he said. “Go back and finish the dream.”

“How do you go back and finish a dream?” I asked. “That’s impossible.” But somehow, I managed to do just that. It took a few weeks, but as if I had hit instant replay, the dream started at the beginning.

I was walking the dog on a hot and sunny summer afternoon. Wearing my khaki shorts and white sneakers, we walked down Sunset Road and cut through the park. Entering the parking lot, I saw the lions and froze. They were lying in the middle of the street, ignoring us while they dallied in the shade. The number four appeared over Oreo’s head. “Don’t panic,” I said. “Finish the dream.”

Silently and without moving so much as a muscle, I watched the lions intently. Beautiful, powerful, and majestic — they were larger than any animal I had ever seen outside of a zoo. Lying close together, they were unencumbered and at peace. And while they were lazing about, and seemingly unfazed by our presence, the sight of their massive teeth and claws scared me half to death.

We slowly walked over to the fence, inching alongside it. Gradually, making our way to the street. We turned left and continued hugging the fence until we reached the church. “Father and son,” I thought again.

We cut through the church’s parking lot and headed back to Sunset Road, where our walk began. Then I saw the swish of the tail. One of the lions was standing alongside a tombstone in the church cemetery. I tried to cross the street, but the other lion, the smaller of the two, stood behind us on the corner of the street.

“Don’t wake up, Lorrie. Finish the dream.” Looking ahead, I saw my car. It was parked just up the road where I had left it. I took two steps forward, and the lions inched in closer. Oreo reacted to the two tawny-colored cats and started barking and pulling on the leash. The king of the pride roared. With fierce determination, Oreo pulled on the leash so hard, I nearly fell over. I dug in and held on as the lions cornered us. The only thing between them and us was the church, which was closed. There was nowhere to run or hide. My legs began to feel weak and wobbly. I have to find a way to get back to the car. Taking one step forward, Oreo pulled me toward the graveyard.

“Oreo, stop,” I whispered. We’re not going to make it. I reached down and took Oreo’s face in my hand. “I love you,” I said. “I have to let you go now. I’ll see you again real soon.” She looked back at me with understanding eyes, and I let go of the leash. She ran towards the lion in the graveyard and I ran to the safety of my car.

I heard no commotion behind me. No barking. No crying. No roaring of the lions. There was only silence. When I got to my car, I turned around. Facing the church and small cemetery, all was still. The lions and Oreo were gone. And, although sad, I felt strangely calm and at peace.

Shortly after Labor Day, Oreo started losing weight. Every month she had one test done after the other — they all came back normal. At three months, she was living on pain meds. At four months, she stopped eating and drinking. To keep her alive, I force-fed her with an oral syringe. By the fifth month, she could no longer get out of her bed or stand on her own. And still, there was no diagnosis. Desperate, I carried my emaciated dog into the vet’s office and pleaded with the vet to help her.

Surprised by her rapid deterioration, he carried her into the x-ray room. “It has to show something by now,” he said. “If not, I’ll schedule an ultrasound. Don’t lose hope yet. This may not be as bad as it looks. She may have something I can treat.”

I sat on the floor of the exam room, waiting for the results. Oreo lay next to me with her head resting on my thigh. Stroking her head, I recalled the lions. And I understood the significance of the dream, and who the father and son were. And I knew what the test results would be.

Cancer. Undetectable for months, it now protruded from underneath her ribcage. And there were fourteen smaller tumors that had spread to her lungs. There wasn’t anything the vet could do — it was too late. My little girl had just turned four years old.

The dream I feared finishing now brought me incredible comfort. I was at peace with letting her go. I knew where she was going — she was going home to be with the Father and Son.

Just as I had done in the dream, I took Oreo’s face in my hands. “I love you, baby girl,” I said. “I have to let you go now. But I’ll see you again. One day soon. When I get to heaven. And we’ll cross the rainbow bridge together.”

by Lorrie Lush