Wednesday, July 30, 2008

A Dog Filled With Gratitude for its Life Lived, by Kat Magendie's Old Girl

Good Old Girl Kayla, with Young Dog Jake, and their Woman - painting by Roger Magendie

My people are missing me, but I’m right here. My people were always good to me. I had lots of petting and tummy rubs, and my food was always there for me to eat twice a day, and a treat every night. I knew many words, but mostly I knew my people’s face and the way they spoke to me with happy and glad and good. Sometimes, they’d get mad at my barking too loud at things, but that was my job and I had to do it. They never stayed mad for long, because they loved me too much. They still love me; I feel it as I hover near. When my woman first held me, I was just a pup and she showed me things and cared for me the most. I am my woman’s and she is mine. My man had a deep voice that talked to me and told me I was beautiful; I was and am. My woman, though, my woman was my friend and I was her friend and I smell her sad sad sad; I smell it and I hover near and try to let her know that all things are good. My life was good because of my people.

I am not sick or getting old any more. My shoulder quit hurting. My insides that had the bad things in them aren’t bad anymore. My woman and my man didn’t know I had bad things growing inside. I could not tell them. But, I was happy and good. Up until the very last days I was there, I didn’t feel so bad at all for an old one. But then, I was tired and did not feel so well. My woman petted me and rubbed my tummy and talked softly to me. I had to go to the man in town. I knew it was almost my time gone. I sniffed the wind. I thanked my woman with my eyes.

My woman cried and cried, especially my last day, but more so now. Cries and cries as if her heart will break. While I was still there, I tried to look at her with my eyes full of things I wanted to tell her, but I cannot speak and she cried too much. She will remember though, after a time. My man cried too. My man stroked my fur and told me I was beautiful. My woman said I was always a good girl, her good old girl, best always girl, always her friend. Young Dog will miss me; he knew I was old.

My last day, I sat out and sniffed the wind until it was time to go back to the man. The man tried to save me, but I knew it was my time to leave. My woman and my man wanted to save me. It was not to be so. I was with my people a long time, and we had three houses while I was with my people, but the last house was my favorite. All the smells and other animals and sounds. I did not like the storms and the wind, but my woman would pet me and tell me all is well until I would sleep. I hover now, and am feeling strong as I did as a pup, even more. I am a part of everything now and everything is a part of me. I am a part of all the things I sniffed at and looked at and tasted and heard. My woman still cries and cries and cries. My man cries. My woman walks slowly from room to room and I follow her, try to tell her: My Woman, I thanked you every day and you thanked me every day. We thanked each other by our friendship. By the walks we took every day. By the food you gave me and the thankful eyes and singing yodel I gave you. By the apple treats I munched happy happy happy. By the pettings you gave and I received. By the tears I took inside my fur. My woman, don’t cry. I am still hovering near. I am still your best friend. I am still a part of everything you touch and hear and see. I am your old girl, always.


Angie Ledbetter said...

My woman, don’t cry. I am still hovering near.

Yes, she will always be near. So sorry for your loss. Hugs

Barbara Quinn said...

I'm sorry.Pets are part of the family and the loss runs deep. Your words are a lovely tribute to a special friend, and are as lovely as that painting. Major hugs to you and Rog.

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