Burying the family dog is never easy.
Burying our devoted, kind-hearted, gentle giant Athos was certainly a hard task for us all. Athos, who has been an integral part of the family since William was a baby. Athos, whose mom was my mom's best friend. But we find much joy in the many fond memories, and in a loving, well-loved life.
Nearly eight years ago -- after a weekend of fun dancing, visiting and music playing with the family, Auntie Jane, & Bob McQuillen at the Spring Breakdown -- we loaded up this sweet, fluffy black puppy, who was born in my parents' kitchen, and brought him home with us.
Though he was endlessly frightened of thunderstorms, fireworks, chainsaws, bulls, bossy dogs, having his paws stepped on, the lengthening shadows of evening, and geese, we named this brave cookie after the musketeer -- Athos. And, despite his fears, he proved a tireless defender of the home and faithful companion.
Once his ears finally managed to get under control.....
...He was quite the dashing fellow.
Hard to believe that a puppy who used to fit through the cat flap could grow into this:
The kids were his favorite, and the feeling was mutual.
He had a heart of gold, and his long-suffering, never failing patience endeared him to everyone around.... even if he did look a bit resigned at times.
William, especially, seemed to have a special bond with him. And was very much devastated to lose his good friend who had always been there for him, ready for any shared adventure.
Discussing favorite memories around the grave site, Margaret recounted the Christmas she gave him a giant dog bone, which he showed much excitement about, then promptly buried and never touched again...
Not only did he have to tend the flock of children, he also had to put up with the various corgis running around the farm.... including his partner in crime, Baldrick.
He even had to put up with having a corgi jockey.
On the day I drove you down the back country roads to the vet for the last time, Athos, and you leaned your big, aching, cancer-ridden body against me as the slanting autumn sunlight filtered in through the windshield -- I didn't know that was our good-bye. But I'm thankful for it.
You were brave and sweet to the last. How appropriate that we brought you home, full of life, on a lovely Missouri spring day and that you slipped away from us on a gloriously beautiful fall afternoon, in the autumn of your life. Death & resurrection in perfect, sad beauty.
And I did so well the next day, picking up your body to bring back home, until I hit our dirt road, and saw the mail truck you loved begging treats from, and realized you wouldn't be there waiting at the end of the driveway to greet me.
The yard is so incredibly empty now.
I'll miss your big nose to scatch.
I'll miss you leaning your big hairy body against me and lifting up one paw so I could scratch your belly.
I'll miss seeing you on the front & back porches, watching over things.
I'll miss looking over my horse's ears and seeing you waiting for me as we explored the farm.
I'll miss your ridiculously long tongue & tail.
I'll miss your big eyes always looking up, waiting for another pat...
And your ridiculous poses.
I'll miss your hay bale climbing ways, even if you ate your weight in cat food.
I'll even miss your sprinkler chasing ways.
I'll miss every single photo around the farm having you in it. No matter where we were or what we were doing, you were there with us, ready to join in.
0 comments:
Post a Comment