Patty & Emory lost their youngest dog yesterday, and wrote this sweet piece about their loss:
RIP, Bach (08 MAY 2007 - 10 JAN 2011)
There are various places where my dog may be buried.
I am thinking now of Bach, a German Shepherd Dog, whose coat was beautiful in any manner of light, whose head was held up high, even in his last days, with dignity, and who, so far as I am aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought.
Bach will be cremated, and his ashes will be scattered in the front pasture of my home. And in its proper season, the month of May, the month of his birth, that pasture will be full of flowers and green; the green and flowery lawn of his grave.
He could have been buried on the hill, where he, along with his pal, German Shepherd Dog, Shosta, spent many hours looking for deer, turkey, an occasional bear, or bobcat, or any manner of threat to their masters.
On such a hill, among various flowering plants, he snoozed in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorsome bone, or lifted his head to challenge some strange intruder. These are good places in life or in death. Good places to bury such a proud and noble breed.
Yet, it is no small matter, for if that dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through my dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where my dog sleeps.
On a hill where the wind is un-rebuked, and the trees are roaring, or on a dock beside the stream, down by the pond he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of that pasture where most exhilarating deer grazed; It is all one to the dog, and allone to me. And nothing is gained, nothing is lost if his memory lives.
So, there is truly one place to bury my dog.
And if I bury him in this spot, he will come to me when I call him - come to
me over the grim, dim frontiers of death and down the well-remembered path,and to my side again. And though I call a dozen living dogs to heel, they shall not growl at him nor resent his coming, for he belongs there.
People may laugh at me, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall...who hear no whimper; maybe people who never really had a dog. I can smile at them, for I shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.
For, the one best place to bury a dog is in the heart of his master. And through four and one-half years of steadfast dedication and compassionate companionship, he is buried where loved ones who have gone on before me rest. He will, as they do, sleep deep within my heart.
RIP, Bach…My Best Buddy
(Adapted from Ben Hur Lampman. "Where to Bury A Dog")
