You watch as your kin and good friends pass on...leaving you with memories that you can cherish.
And then there's the pets.
They are with you too short a time...how many have passed thru your life?
I just lost my latest...Becky a 7-pound poodle that was with us too short a time...She was about 5 when we adopted her. She was with us for five years....a loving, lovable ball of fur.
When she first entered out lives, she had had no medical care. She hadn't been mistreated, but the old fellow who had her had not taken her to a vet.
When the rescue outfit took her, the vet had to pulled her teeth (she had one front one left) and she had to be spaded. Most of her hair was cut off and the vet did not think she's survive.
But the moment my daughter brought her home and layed her in my lap, she bonded with me and started perking up.
From that moment she rarely left my side if I was in the house. She'd go to other members of the family and friends, but the minute I walked into the room, she wanted up on my lap or beside me.
She took naps with me and went to bed with me. If I didn't lie in a position that would allow her to put herself in my armpit, she'd poke at mew with her paws until I turned over.
When we took car trips,we couldn't use the car's console between the passenger and the driver. That was her spot so she could lay her head on my leg.
And when it was nap time or bedtime, she'd take off like a bolt of lighting, running as fast as she could.
And she expected just a morsel of food when we finished a meal.
Even with no teeth, she still loved the little animal crackers, holding them in her mouth until they became soft.
She was one dog that did not like to walk. When I tried to walk her,she'd stopped and claw at my leg to be carried.
I've probably been closer to this little thing than any dog I've ever had...and I've had dogs most of my life.
Becky, we sure do miss you. You were one great companion.
I think I must have inherited my love of animals from my folks...especially my dad.
We had chicken, pigs and cows and Dad treated them all like good friends.
When it came time to butcher the pigs, he'd go into the spring house until a neighbor helping us, came in and said the hogs were dead. Then he could go out and do the butchering, getting them ready for the table.
He would not eat chickens. But he didn't say anything to Mama when she went into the yard, picked out a plump one and fixed it for dinner.
Mama told me of one time when the little dog they had, was hit and killed by a car (in those days you rarely tied up a dog and he was free to roam), Dad picked up the body, put it in a shoebox and buried it in the backyard.
He came into the kitchen, pulled out a plug of Brown Mule tobacco and sat by the stove where he could spit in the coal bucket.
After awhile, he turned to Mama and said: “Ginny, I wonder if that dog is really dead.”
He went back into the yard and dug up the dog to make sure he hadn't buried him alive.
Will I get another pet?
Of course and I've got one already picked out that I'll pick up one day and I know I will treat him as a member of the family.
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