Friday, May 23, 2014
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
In Memory of our Saxon
The other night,
three days after my dog
took her last breath,
I walked into the quiet
of our living room and
stared out the window
until I couldn't see
for the tears.
My wife came up behind me
and rubbed my back,
knowing there was nothing
she could say,
feeling the same sense
of loneliness that
brought on my tears.
She hugged me and
within moments our son,
a sixteen year old teenager,
who stands taller than us,
wrapped his long arms
around both of us
and our family stood there
mourning our dog,
the missing fourth.
For over a decade
she was there everyday,
at my feet beside the
bed when I woke.
At the door, wagging her tail,
when we got home,
and always, always, in
the kitchen watching for us
prepare food and eat,
hoping beyond hope for a snack.
Saxon, our dog, was a
yellow lab and if you
know the breed, labs
don't stop thinking about eating.
In fact she never wanted
to stop anything.
She would play for hours,
catch the Frisbee,
chase the ball,
and hide and seek.
We'd tell her to stop
playing and slow down.
We'd tell her to stop eating and digest.
And the other day,
even though she was
half blind and half deaf,
and struggled to walk,
I had to tell her
to stop her breath;
it would be okay to rest.
Our house seems so empty and
our lives seem like empty shells
now that she's gone.
It seems like she was such a bigger dog
than she physically was,
filling our lives with that
unconditional love that
only dogs have.
I still talk to her,
these days later,
and as I look out into
our backyard where I buried
her I wish I could
look out the door and
call her in.
She won't come anymore.
It rained for days after she died,
and though I'm not religious,
I assumed it meant
that every religion's God
was crying along with us.
Gods love dogs, as
do dyslexics, who
call god dog and
dog god.
What a great feeling
that would be - she was
god on earth,
sent to look after
our family,
to love us,
protect us, and
comfort us.
Don't get me wrong -
we gave back:
trips to the cottage,
little treats between meals,
hugs, kisses, and cuddles.
As her body started failing
her incredible mind
I carried her up and down
stairs, just so she could
sleep beside the bed.
I wish I could have
carried her forever,
I owed her that.
That last time
I carried her
I laid her to rest
and gave her
her pillows and toys.
"Goodnight, thanks for
looking after us."
three days after my dog
took her last breath,
I walked into the quiet
of our living room and
stared out the window
until I couldn't see
for the tears.
My wife came up behind me
and rubbed my back,
knowing there was nothing
she could say,
feeling the same sense
of loneliness that
brought on my tears.
She hugged me and
within moments our son,
a sixteen year old teenager,
who stands taller than us,
wrapped his long arms
around both of us
and our family stood there
mourning our dog,
the missing fourth.
For over a decade
she was there everyday,
at my feet beside the
bed when I woke.
At the door, wagging her tail,
when we got home,
and always, always, in
the kitchen watching for us
prepare food and eat,
hoping beyond hope for a snack.
Saxon, our dog, was a
yellow lab and if you
know the breed, labs
don't stop thinking about eating.
In fact she never wanted
to stop anything.
She would play for hours,
catch the Frisbee,
chase the ball,
and hide and seek.
We'd tell her to stop
playing and slow down.
We'd tell her to stop eating and digest.
And the other day,
even though she was
half blind and half deaf,
and struggled to walk,
I had to tell her
to stop her breath;
it would be okay to rest.
Our house seems so empty and
our lives seem like empty shells
now that she's gone.
It seems like she was such a bigger dog
than she physically was,
filling our lives with that
unconditional love that
only dogs have.
I still talk to her,
these days later,
and as I look out into
our backyard where I buried
her I wish I could
look out the door and
call her in.
She won't come anymore.
It rained for days after she died,
and though I'm not religious,
I assumed it meant
that every religion's God
was crying along with us.
Gods love dogs, as
do dyslexics, who
call god dog and
dog god.
What a great feeling
that would be - she was
god on earth,
sent to look after
our family,
to love us,
protect us, and
comfort us.
Don't get me wrong -
we gave back:
trips to the cottage,
little treats between meals,
hugs, kisses, and cuddles.
As her body started failing
her incredible mind
I carried her up and down
stairs, just so she could
sleep beside the bed.
I wish I could have
carried her forever,
I owed her that.
That last time
I carried her
I laid her to rest
and gave her
her pillows and toys.
"Goodnight, thanks for
looking after us."
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