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.