Twenty-Seven Years

The beautiful Sirca, aka "Moo", Skater's great grandma ... the light of our lives. Hard to believe that she entered the world twenty-seven years ago today. She gave us so much. She asked for so little. I loved seeing her in generation after generation of puppies. Sirca was the talker, something that came through loud and clear in Skater. It's so silent now. I love and miss you, Moo.

Three Long Years

Yes, I've used the marigolds again; it's one of my favorite photos of Skater and I have so few.

It's been three years. The old adage, "time flies when you're having fun," does not hold true. Life IS good ... but I miss my boy as much today as I did on the night of August 13, 2007. He still gets his plan every night, still plays in my head, still (and always) fills my heart. But, the physical absence and the ache so caused has not diminished. I had horrible dreams about dogs last night. I don't know why I had them or what they meant but this is not a happy anniversary and I think my subconscious knows that.

Last year on this date, I sent Skater a red heart balloon. Today, I will bury him ... again ... but nearby this time, in a beautiful place, in a peaceful place, in a place where I know he is safe. His plan, a photo of this magnificent dog, my "WWST" bracelet, a bit of his hair and some fluff from each of his 2 favorite bunnies are all securely in a beautiful metal case that originally housed recordings of Handel's Messiah. This will be buried at the foot of an old and majestic California oak and a few of his marigolds, the seeds taken from those plants in the photo, will be planted above. And, if, in 100 years, someone unearths this memorial to my dog, he or she will know that an angel truly did walk upon the earth.

I love and miss you, Bug.

The Walnut

For some odd reason, my mom always called Warlock, "Walnut." Warlock was born 26 years ago yesterday. Bred by Rosemarie Davis, he came into our lives at 10 weeks of age and never left. The photo above was taken when he was almost 13 years old.

Warlock was an interesting dog and, by far, one of the most intelligent dogs I have ever known. He had a memory like the proverbial steel trap and was always thinking, sometimes in ways that weren't terribly appreciated. Warlock was not only bright, he was clever. And vocal. And strong. The funny thing about this boy was that he really wasn't any trouble as a pup. He was obedient and easy to live with, learned the ropes of the show ring in short order and had a temperament that was as close to perfect as they come. Then he grew up.

The first of Warlock's disasters was when he bred and tied a wire crate. Yes, there was a bitch in season in the crate but, when his efforts to get to her began, there was also a closed solid wood door and a bed between him and the crate. I'm not sure how he got through the door; when we came home, it was splintered and off its hinges. Then there was that bed. Like all beds, it had a mattress and one of my lovely old quilts. The mattress died ... well, actually, Warlock killed it. (He also killed my Raggedy Ann but that's another story.) How he managed to get every last bit of stuffing out of the mattress and spread throughout the entire room was and remains a mystery. It looked like a blizzard had hit. There was our Warlock, mounted upon and tied to the crate; the bitch inside looked partially disgusted and mostly amused. It took a pair of heavy duty pliers and the strength of 2 adults to free him and his penis. He was none the worse for wear. We were.

Warlock and my dear friend, Paula, had a very special relationship; it began when he pulled her over the top of two high-backed chairs and a table and broke her ribs. She adored that boy and brought him gifts yearly. I swear that he looked forward to her visits. Paula wrote a beautiful short story about Warlock and I will treasure it always.

When Fish was almost 6 weeks in whelp to Conan, Warlock opened a brand new jar of Filaribits. He didn't break it open; he held the bottle with his paws while he unscrewed the top with his mouth. As I said, Warlock was very bright. There were 4 other dogs in the room with him at the time, including the pregnant Fish. When I discovered the open jar and counted the remaining pills, I knew there were approximately 70 missing. With Warlock involved, he could have eaten them all himself or divided them evenly among the five of them. I spent quite a bit of time on the telephone, at 2:00 AM, with the vet on call at the manufacturer to find out what devastation was about to befall my dogs. Apparently, the only problem with the amount potentially ingested by one to five dogs was temporary liver damage. I was told to watch the color of their urine; if it turned orange, we needed veterinary help. Well, it was most interesting to stand outside at 3:00 AM, armed with a flashlight, and try to determine what shade of pee was what. Everyone was fine and Fish delivered 5 healthy babies 3 weeks later.

Warlock was relentless ... if he wanted to play, you played. If you walked away, he played alone. Besides being an excellent catcher, he excelled at both tether ball and soccer. And, he could throw. Near the end of his life, Warlock lost the function of his rear end. BUT, that didn't stop him from playing Frisbee. You could sit 10-15 feet from him and toss the disk ... he would catch it and toss it back.

Warlock was an amazing soul. I still miss his wit and his constant "banter." Can't wait to see you again, Buddy!

Shining Brightly

Dawn has always said that she has a foot in each of two worlds; she has recognized my Skater's "visits" on more than one occasion and realized things about him that I had never told her. She suggested that I keep a candle lit in the window for him every night.

Here is your candle, my precious boy; let it guide you to whatever you seek.

Birthday Bunnies

Whoever believes that there is no heaven and that the spirits of those who have gone before us do not watch and guide us from the idyllic place, has never been blessed with the love and friendship of a Dog.

Thank you for the message, Skater. Again, happy birthday, my boy.

5479 Days

Fifteen years (or 5479 days) ago, on an overcast Thursday afternoon, you entered this world and my life. In that first moment, little did I know that I was holding a tiny miracle, two pounds of fur-wrapped bliss that would forever change my life.

Our journey has been amazing, yet very unevenly weighted on those heavenly scales. You have put so much into your side, I have put comparatively little into mine. I am human, incapable of the unconditional and constant faith, devotion and love you have always given. My love for you is greater than any I have ever known yet inevitably lacks the purity of yours for me. There is a reason the God spelled backwards is Dog.

You are my prayer, my constant presence, my ever-vigilant guardian. If I could only see your beautiful face, look into the depth of your eyes and bury my face into your comforting neck once more ... then MY life would be heaven.

I miss you, Skater, sometimes more than I can stand. I pray for you, for those who went before you, but, first and last, always for you. I honor and celebrate you. And, on this sunny anniversary of your birth, I celebrate your journey and thank you for choosing me as the faulty human with whom you take that journey. I love you, Bug. Happy Birthday.

Boundiful Blessings

No, the title of this post is what I meant it to be; no typos involved.

Sometimes .... all the time ... I miss Skater so much it is palpable. One of his most endearing qualities was an immeasurable sweetness with a little bit of goofy thrown in for good measure. No matter what my mood, Skater could always bring a smile to my face or flat out make me laugh. He had talent. He had heart. He had a wonderful sense of humor.

Bounder is a very funny young dog and spending time with him, just watching him BE a dog, is one of my life's secret pleasures. Yesterday, I watched his silly antics and just reveled in my memories of THE dog of my heart. Somehow, I think Bounder knows what will make me laugh, what will make those photographs in my mind come alive again. When Skater was a baby, we called him Baby Huey; he was this goofball of a mobile stuffed toy that loved to explore and expand his unique sense of humor.

First of all, Bounder cannot seem to just lay down. Instead, he does this silly tuck and roll, eyes sparkling and tongue lolling. The end result is a major flop to the ground, on his side, with a definite grin on his handsome face. That was Skater's first "trick", invented on his own, perfected over time. It reminds me.

Both Skater and his uncle, Grouch, had a unique way of approaching someone they loved. Each would run, full tilt, straight at you. Skater ended the run with a tuck and roll. Grouch, who was a very large dog, ended his run with a dive between your legs. With his shoulders below your crotch, he would stand up straight and tip you over. Doggy bowling I suppose. Bounder has combined the two ... he runs, dives between your legs and just keeps going! It reminds me.

As I've said many times, I do ... I MUST ... believe that my Skater is still here with me. He leaves little signs and, yesterday, Bounder brought me one of those reminders. My little dork, Divot, who was raised by Skater, has always removed the eyes from all her toys; it's as if she thinks it blinds them so they won't see her coming. Skater, on the other hand, never harmed any of his precious toys. Bounder has a stuffed puppy. He obviously loves the spit-stiff little thing and he was VERY proud to share it with me yesterday. When I picked it up to throw it to him I noticed that he had removed one eye. It reminds me.

Does A Ton Weigh 2000 Pounds?

This photo was taken during Paula's first visit with us in California, well over 20 years ago. I remember how delighted she was to meet Don Quixote and I caught this image of the two of them, sitting in Helen's front yard. Although both of our lives took turns and traveled in directions neither of us could have predicted, I still consider Paula my best friend and am ever in awe of what she has accomplished, despite some terrible odds.

Skater's Uncle Ray was Paula's heart and it devastated her when he passed. She and Ray were a symbiotic pair, a joy to watch. She also had a very special place in her heart for my Warlock, (despite the fact that, on the same visit as photographed above, Warlock broke a number of Paula's ribs by pulling her over the dining room table and chairs), and he adored her like no other.

Anyway, I have often heard the saying that we are not given any more to bear than we are able and, that, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Those words are all good and well as a cliche but, when they have a direct relationship to what is current in life, they can be nothing less than daunting.

Yesterday, I learned that Paula has Multiple Sclerosis. Why? This is a woman who has devoted her life to the animals with whom she shares this planet. For many years, she has had the ability to communicate with and, therefore, kindly train any dog. Over the past few years, she has gotten heavily involved in equine rescue and it has truly become her life's passion. Now, she has to deal with the worry of how long she will be able to do what she feels is needed for her beloved animals, including those she has not yet met, those who will need her. Why?

To top it all off, yesterday, she lost her open air barn to a freak desert windstorm. It twisted and tore the metal roof and endangered Paula's horses. Thankfully, all animals and humans were safe and the horses are now boarded out until Paula can have her facilities repaired. Again, I ask why? How much becomes too much? Why would so many bad things happen to such a good person? It makes no sense to me. I will add to Skater's plan tonight; he now has a very important job - to protect my friend.

Family and Friends

This is how I imagine I will see my Skater and all those before him as they meet me at the Bridge. I love the anticipation, wisdom and peacefulness of this photo. It makes me think about the "ties that bind" and how some of those ties are so strong that nothing can break them while others snap at the slightest tension.

Part of Skater's nightly plan includes my telling him that he is my best friend ... and he is. Today, that made me think of friendships in general and familial relationships within the bounds of the same parameters that actually define a friendship. My mom is probably my best "human" friend. It took me many years into my own adulthood to realize that her love for me was absolutely unconditional; it's a nice and very warming realization. My dad was my friend but he has been gone now for almost twenty-nine years. My brother is not and will likely never be my friend; our relationship is purely an accident of birth. I have other friends who have entered into my life at different times and I am bound to them by choice. Friendship is a phenomenon unto itself; it is those ever-changing, multi-faceted and oddly balanced relationships that just plain work for the positive benefit and enhancement of those involved.

I've met many people who were and are completely baffled at the notion that a dog could be my best friend. I am equally if not more baffled at their lack of understanding so simple a concept. I've had a number of dogs over the years who were "heart" dogs, friends without whom I could not imagine living a happy life. Moo, Skater's great-grandmother and one of the kindest souls I have ever known, was my best bud for almost fourteen years. Her grandson, Grouch, the comedian, was another. I honestly can't say that there are degrees of friendship involved but, rather, a need fulfilled during certain times in my life. Moo and Grouch were there during happy times and I was less dependent upon them. Skater went through an entire cycle with me, from the heights down to the depths, and he always seemed to recognize what was needed and when.

I guess I have finally stopped feeling as though I had to compare each relationship to another, quit questioning which dog really meant the most and definitely stopped feeling guilty about even wondering such a thing. Each dog was there at exactly the right time and was exactly right for that time. To truly love a dog and for the dog to truly love you, there must be that sense of a symbiotic relationship that flows to the needs of both beings. I really believe that dogs are more in tune with that than humans are. Dogs do not try to control the emotional balance. Instead, they become a part of it, giving, taking, sharing. It's the "unconditional" that's the blessing. I have been SO blessed.

Who You Gonna Call?

Mirriam-Webster defines a hero as: "1 a : a mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability b : an illustrious warrior c : a man admired for his achievements and noble qualities d : one that shows great courage." I hear the word "hero" being used an awful lot ... usually in conjunction with someone performing one act in a unique time of crisis. While I don't want to take away from anyone who has ever risen to such an occasion, I can't help but wonder why we don't applaud our everyday heroes, those who do so much for us throughout their lifetimes. It's the little things that add up to such big things.

Skatiebug did so many of those "little things"; I realize now that too many went unnoticed at the time. He amused me by learning to eat off a fork, made me smile to watch that huge jaw closing gently around the tines in order to pluck off a solitary morsel; it was a gesture of comfort to me during a bleak time in my life. He would converse with me or anyone of my choosing - all I had to do was ask and, doggy lips pursed, he would break into a sing-song that could force the most hardened heart into a smile; another gesture of comfort. He babysat puppies, taught the rescues, tolerated Divot with divinely inspired patience. He never complained when I got home late after an extra-long day at work. He learned to poop in the snow, something he hated. He held on - for me - through some horrendous health issues that would have killed another dog with ease. He was the epitome of comfort. Skater never harmed another creature on this earth. He never, ever complained. He lived an amazing life comprised of millions of softly heroic acts and gestures. Skater was, is and will always be my hero; that's unequivocal and cemented in stone.

Because of having been so blessed with the company of such an amazing dog, I now recognize the heroics of other dogs. My friend, Lois, and I were playing with Bounder the other day; he's still a baby with all the energy and humor that only a young, male GSD can have. At one point, Lois's 11 year old Glass Palace son, Rodney, whom I absolutely ADORE, was watching us, seeing Bounder run in ever-increasing circles, tongue and tail wagging. Rodney silently contemplated this scene until he had had enough, at which point he voiced his opinion of the child's antics and our fascination with them. Of course, Bounder had to go up to the fence and, with a look, tell Rodney, "Tough! I'm younger, I can outrun you and it's MY time now." I looked at this silent communication between the two dogs; one so young, full of energy (and himself) and just beginning on his journey through life and the other, older, graying, less steady on his feet and coming to the end of his journey. I told Bounder that, as much as I loved him, he was still just a Prince in Rodney's kingdom. Rodney was and is the hero; his wisdom, tolerance, sweet nature and continuous effort to be all that he ever was and could be still is so apparent in his aging body. Bounder is so lucky to have such a mentor. I hope he realizes it.

Hi, Skater!

I found this tomatobunny photo this morning. Dawn says it's Skater saying, "Hi, Mom!" I choose to believe.

Skater had a whole collection of headbands. For Christmas, he had his moose antlers; they had bells on the ends and little red and green lights that lit up when he moved. New Year's Day found him wearing his champagne glass headband. He had a headband with little pumpkins on springs that shook and lit up for Halloween. For the 4th of July, there were red white and blue sparklers and, for Easter, he had his infamous bunny ears (there is a photo of Skater in his ears on an earlier entry). Then there was St. Patrick's Day. His green headband sprouted many little shamrocks that swayed in the breeze when Skater walked or ran around. I loved those shamrocks and wish I had a picture of him sporting the little green good-luck-clovers.

I don't think that Skater really appreciated wearing his various headbands and, way down deep, know that he probably felt more than just a little bit foolish in his holiday headgear. But, as with everything else, he did it to please me, wore them with all the grace and dignity that his poor embarrassed self could muster and showed them off proudly wherever we went. My beautiful boy was the epitome of the good sport.

How I miss the headband days and all the other days surrounding them. I miss Skater so much it is palpable. Thanks to Dawn, I have a strong belief that his spirit is with me always and that he continues to guide and protect me. I have to believe; I hang on to the belief. So, as a vegetarian who loves tomatoes, I thank my precious Skater for the St. Patrick's Day greeting and wish him all the love and happiness in the universe. I did notice that the tomato was not wearing a headband. I guess that would have been just too much.

Hot House Flowers

Many years ago, Barbara Williams, a dear lady and someone I consider to be a pillar of the breed, wrote an excellent article and made the sad-but-true analogy of our German Shepherds becoming hot house flowers. The article was printed in The German Shepherd Review and, I believe, a number of other publications. Not only was Barb's analogy true at the time but a terrible prediction and warning of what was to come in our beloved breed. Why the hell didn't we listen?

A little over a week ago, I sat and listened to my friend cry as her dog was bloating and she was waiting for her husband to get home and rush the dog to the vet. As things turned out, it was not gastric bloat/torsion, but the always deadly mesenteric torsion and little Dylan did not survive. It broke my friend's heart; she had to grieve the loss of a 4 year old dog who died an excruciating death. Here is a woman who gives her all for her dogs and there wasn't a damned thing she could do to save her boy. The worst part is that this is happening every day in our magnificent breed. Gastric bloat and torsion have become almost commonplace and mesenteric is rapidly catching up. This is COMPLETELY unacceptable! What have we DONE to this breed?

Years ago, most of us had never even heard of bloat or torsion. The auto-immune problem in German Shepherds has reached epidemic proportions. Now people use Viokase without batting an eye, routinely have gastropexy surgery done to, hopefully, ward off torsion, use thyroid meds like we use aspirin and see no problem with regular "adjustments" from chiropractors to keep their dogs from becoming lame. And this is only the tip of the disgusting iceberg. We used to gave rabies and distemper vaccines. Then, along came parvo so we gave preventatives for that as well. Now, there are so many vaccines, pills, surgeries to PREVENT many situations which never should have come to be in the first place!

I find it really fascinating that the rescue dogs I have had do not have the same problems. Many of them have had no vaccines, have lived on trash and roadkill, are exposed to the elements and who only knows what else. Guess what? They don't get sick! I have never had to watch their stools to make sure they are alright. Are these dogs trying to tell us something? I sure as hell think that they are and, if we don't start to listen soon, it will be only the ghosts of this breed left to comfort us.

Barbara was so right - how I wish she wasn't. But we are turning our beautiful wildflowers into orchids and I, for one, can't raise an orchid to save my soul; every one of those damned expensive hot house flowers has died on me. We don't need this for our dogs.

The Eyes Have It

Downtown Murphysboro, Illinois

I lost Skater on August 13, 2007 and left Illinois on November 28, 2007; I had spent more than enough time in that particular corner of hell and the weight of the plane taking off was less than the weight being lifted from my heart. Yes, my boy was buried there but, what made Skater who he was was, is and always will be with me. I never looked back. For me, Murphysboro was a small, backward, bigoted community that was SO proud of its rejection of progress and change. Getting back to California was like breathing fresh air for the first time in eight years.

I've been really lucky, lately. I find that I absolutely LOVE judging German Shepherds and was so very fortunate to have been asked to judge the Shoreline show at last month's Triangle. My only reservation was that it would put me back in Illinois, even if only for 3 days. The thought made me just a little nervous and just a little nauseous. And, I had no idea how I would feel about being in the same state where Skater is buried. He "lives" a life with me now and I wasn't too sure about the convergence of two vastly different worlds.

Well, I've learned that forced proximity can be a really good thing! When I got into the middle of that ring, with all those wonderful German Shepherds surrounding me, I felt a sense of peace and protection from bad memories that only the dogs can give! All the horrible memories of those eight years just vanished like a proverbial puff of smoke and, you know what? It was the dogs' eyes that made that miracle happen.

I've always said that the wisdom of the universe can all be seen in a German Shepherd's eyes and Skater had the most magnificent eyes into which I've ever gazed. Well, on this Saturday, in the ring, I saw the reflection of my boy's eyes in every German Shepherd I touched. My hands touched each dog; each dog touched my soul. I saw the spirit of my boy in every returned look, the wisdom of the ages, telling me that I could let go of all the bad memories and hold on to the good ones; the good ones were all of Skater.

It's hard to describe the feeling of being surrounded by these magnificent dogs, each pouring out his or her own perfection through the look only a German Shepherd can give. It was like being enveloped in an ethereal cloak of safety. I will never forget it. As always, I wore my "skate" pin; he was there.

Skatiebug'z For Real!

Now ... is he too cute or what? That is my rendition of the "Skatiebug" and he is the logo for a new online venture of sorts - a store, offering an eclectic if not downright odd mix of merchandise for the German Shepherd fanatic. Obviously, it was inspired by my precious boy and I hope its success will be another tribute to his memory; there can never be too many tributes to the most amazing dog.

Come visit, browse, have some coffee or tea while you look through items. As you do, think of Skater's beautiful face and wonderful smile and ENJOY. Skatiebug'z is at:

http://skatiebugz.shutterfly.com/

The Plan Gets Longer

Remember "The Plan" ... the words I speak to Skater every night and have for years? It keeps on getting longer. My poor boy must feel like he's in an eternal tug-of-war - him in his world and me in mine, always asking him to do this or that. But I only ask because I know that magnificent heart of his. Lately, I have prevailed upon him to please keep an eye on Paulette's Ella, suffering from a horrible cancer but always rebounding, Dawn's Kizzy, who has been at the Bridge's door too many times in the last year but always comes back to counter surf and, once again, block the doorway so Dawn can't leave the house without her, and Paula's Albert, whose tumor was benign. Then Lilly went to the Bridge and I asked Skater to meet and protect her beautiful shy self until I got there. I then told Skater to look for Koko, father of my ditzy Divot who Skater tried his best to teach some manners but was never wholly successful, who I felt would be a good friend to my boy. It occurs to me once more that, as the list lengthens, the more I realize that my reliance on Skater was greater than his on me. I relish my quiet time each night when I speak to him - it maintains the connection and gives me the comfort I need.

After all the foot surgeries etc., Skater and I lived a blissful existence in our own little world. He would go out to lunch with me and, amazing boy that he was, would lay under the table in the restaurant with the great cobb salads and just be patient until I finished. The waitresses never failed to bring him a tidbit or two so he never minded the waits. Winters remained a problem for both of us but we would stay in our little cocoon of a house and wait for warmer days. Skater made new friends, like Voodoo, the sweet little Pyr pup next door, who grew to be 1 1/2 time's his size by the time she was a year old. When her owners were on the road doing their music thing, Voodoo would stay with us and Skater would just put up with her big furry antics, look at me and sigh, as if to question her ever growing up. He trained rescue after rescue, teaching each to be a house dog and obey the rules; he was an amazing teacher.

I remember when I bought Skater a truck. It was a blue Ford Ranger and he just looked so damned good in it. I remember, the night before I actually bought it, we looked at the truck and I said, "That's our truck, Skates!" He was such an integral part of my life. When it became too difficult for him to get into and out of the truck, I sold it and bought a car that was easier for him to manage.

One weekend, we met my mom in St. Louis. She was travelling from Hawaii and, as we hadn't seen each other in awhile, decided that 4 days in St. Louis would be a good thing. My sense of direction being what it is, Skater and I got lost on the way home. He was used to it and I laughed as I walked into a service station to find out where I was and how I could get to where I wanted to go; I swear my dog looked out the car window at me, shook his head in disbelief that I couldn't get anywhere without getting lost, and lay down to take a nap. My boy.

Our life was as dull as could be. We both hated Southern Illinois but we made our own happiness; he was my comfort and my rock. The Plan started there and, as it grows, so does my love and admiration for this once-in-a-lifetime friend; Skater.

KoKo

I really don't know what it is about some months that makes you just want to get through them and move on. This is one January I would definitely like to forget.

My good friend, Karen, called me in tears this morning. There is some psychic connection between dog people that tells you, without any words, that another wonderful member of a canine family is leaving this life. This time, Karen had the horrible ordeal of saying goodbye to two in one day, her Koko and Lexi. Yes, they were both seniors who had great lives but that doesn't make it any easier. It only makes you want to put off the inevitable and angry at the fact that our dogs' lifespans are so damned short.

I didn't know Lexi well but I adored Koko ... CH Jokare's Kocoum. He was my Divot's sire and is nearing his ROM but was oh so much more than the "showdog" or "producer". You know how you meet some dogs along the way, some very special souls who add a certain joy to your life and beauty to the path you take through this world? Koko was one of those dogs. I first met this beautiful black and red boy, the one with the sweet smile and soulful eyes, in 2004, but was fortunate enough to get to spend some really quality time with him right before I came home to California in 2007.

I stayed with Karen for 4 days before Divot, Lilly and I flew west. Karen had to work and, to be honest, I like getting to spend time with other peoples' dogs by myself. I was really interested in getting to know Koko and Kaz, Divot's sire and dam, and spent most of the cold days outdoors with them. I could easily see that Divot got her stubborn, bull-headed, my-way-or-the-highway attitude from her mother. Kaz was my kind of bitch, one who took no crap from anyone and made her feelings known loud and clear. She tolerated me, the stranger, but continually reminded me that I was on HER turf. I loved it. Then, there was Koko. My Divot has a soft side and it was clearly her daddy that gave it to her. It was hard not to revel in the peace of the countryside and the company of this wonderful dog. He hung out with me while I scooped, hosed and filled food bowls, and quietly accompanied me to make sure I did things right. He was a joy.

Koko need some minor surgery while I was there so I had fun building a little hospital ward for him in the house. Typical man, he milked it for all it was worth but he was such a GOOD boy; he reminded me of my beloved Skater and I really believe he knew, at that point, that he had me hooked. Like Skater, he was the epitome of everything a German Shepherd should be ... beautiful, regal, intelligent and loyal, he had that "undefinable" magnificence that only this breed has for me. And, like all wonderful German Shepherds, his eyes held the answers to all the mysteries of the ages; he understood what I was not evolved enough to comprehend.

I never got to see Koko again but he has held and will always hold that unique place in my heart, a place that is his and his alone. I look at his daughter a little differently, now, and see a bit more of her father's kindness in her. Bless you, Koko, and thank you for making my life more meaningful. I will whisper a hello to you each night when I give Skater his plan and, when my time comes to leave this plain, I will rejoice when yours is one of the faces I see again. Until then, play well my sweet friend.

Man In The Moon Made Marigolds

I don't know what it is with me, the moon, marigolds and the incredible connection I have with my dogs. I suppose that the moon thing has to do with my name; depending upon whether you prefer Greek or Roman mythology, Diana was the goddess of the moon. Reasonable explanation, right? As for the marigolds, I have no clue. Skater liked to nap next to the marigolds, he liked to pose for photos with the marigolds and, although he would sometimes snack on the houseplants, he never touched the marigolds. I still have packets of seed labeled, "Skater's Marigolds". So I guess the link is tenuous but a link nonetheless - something out of Kevin Bacon's Six Degrees of Separation theory. It works for me.

It's an introspective week and a sad one. I miss Lilly, her gentle presence, her silly antics. As in any situation where one has to make a life and death decision, I am dealing with the inevitable question of "Did I do the right thing?", even when I know that I have; I do not envy God his power and authority. A few days ago, someone asked, "How do you know when it's time to let go?" Those of us who have been through the process of making that horrible decision all gave the same reply ... "They tell you." Later, I wondered if a non-doggy person could even make any sense of that answer. How do you explain the look in the eye of a beloved friend, the gesture that look makes and the question it begs? How do you explain that it chills you to the very core because, as a friend, love and guardian, you must comply with that wish? But, it's the only answer there is. These dogs are so much more accepting than we are; I believe that, as do the very religious among us, they understand that death is as much a part of the process as life, and accept the transition with a peace and knowledge we do not and cannot possess. These little canine miracles are wise beyond our comprehension.

I was so grateful that Skater never made me make that final decision. In retrospect, he actually did only I didn't realize it at the time. One day, when I am able, I will explain that. For now, I realize that Lilly bestowed the ultimate trust upon me, a faith that is greater than any other; that I would do what was best for her and not what was easiest for me. I did ... I hated it as I have hated it every time a dog has asked the same of me and will hate it again in the future. Nothing good comes without a price and the price of living with these amazing, noble and loving German Shepherds is having to accept their acceptance and do what's right for them in the end.

The moon above is what I see across the road every day. I now see Lilly looking down at me, telling me, "It's okay, mom, you did good." I hope so.

Silly Lilly

Lilly has been part of my life for 3 1/2 years. I pulled her from a kill shelter in southern Illinois and took her in as a foster for Mississippi Valley GSD Rescue. She appeared to be between 6 and 8 years old and this poor, nameless girl had been so horribly abused that it was many months before I could pet her or put her on a lead without having her cringe and try to disappear into the floor. I named her Lilly because I thought that this crushed flower of a GSD could do nothing BUT bloom. And bloom she did.

Lilly had her quirks. One of them was spinning. I don't mean that slow-chase-the-tail sort of spinning but a whirling-dervish spin that could make you dizzy to watch her, Lilly spun when she was nervous, she spun when she was happy and she spun when she was excited. Lilly loved to spin! We had many trying months while still in Illinois and I soon realized that, if Lilly could deal with some of her fears, I would never place her anywhere but make her part of my own little doggy family; Lilly did not deserve any more rejection in her life. She respected Skater and tolerated Divot and the rest of the canine crew.

When I came home to California, Lilly got to fly for the first time. I was VERY apprehensive but she took it like a champ! This girl was an angel on paws who was finally responding to love. Lilly and Divot became fast friends. She put up with Divot's antics and bullying and found her own niche in which she thrived. The only thing Lilly ever hated were Terriers and I can't say that I blamed her - they annoyed her every chance they got. When I came to Santa Rosa, Lilly had to stay with my friend, Lois, for a few months but I went to see her and feed her every day - I couldn't bear to have her feel any abandonment and did the best I could for her. She did make one attempt to eat her own tail - something done to relieve stress - but we healed that up and she was fine. After a couple of months, Lilly was back with me and we were, once again, a happy family. She learned to be silly, loved stuffed toys and thought nothing of hogging half the bed at night. I loved it; my flower had, indeed, bloomed.

I had to make that hideous trip to the vet today and bid Lilly farewell as she travelled to the Bridge. Over the last few weeks she had become very ill and there was no alternative but to do the right thing and let her go. I asked Skater to please make her transition a happy one and promised her that I would be there one today and we would be a family - a HUGE family - once more. As was her life, Lilly's death was gentle. As I sat with that poor wasting body, I realized that all the titles and all the pedigrees in the world were meaningless when it comes to the value of a dog. Lilly had been beaten, abused, abandoned and came close to being gassed in a shelter. Despite her horrific beginning, she never showed one bit of aggression toward anyone; she was willing to try, once more, to trust and to love. Lilly succeeded; I only hope that I did. Till we meet again, sweet girl - I love you, Silly Lilly.