Dogs'
lives are too short. Their only fault, really. Agnes Sligh
Turnbull
A message from Sonja, on losing our beloved companions...
The last year has been a tough year for me and my
animal friends. We all reach a time when our animal companions age and reach
that cycle where they pass on and leave a very big hole in our hearts. For me
this year has had way too many holes, but that is part of life. I have said
goodbye to all three of my beloved dogs, my 20 year old cat and a 26 year old
horse as well.
My horse and cat were with me for so many years and I could see them fading and moving on to a better place where animals pass to. Teddy had been my solid kitty companion at work where he ate lunch on my lap and passed his days lounging on my desk. He had quite a life and enjoyed every minute of it as he pleased. His passing was hard as was Bucks, a beautiful Buckskin QH gelding who had graced our pastures and loved me well for the past 19 years.
But for me my dogs passings were even harder. For 10-14 years they traveled everywhere I did, moved when I did, and were my constant guardians and friends. Each of them had their special traits and qualities that made me love them with all my heart. They got me through marriage, divorce, broken bones and many, many happy times. We spent many a days on the agility course running and playing and many more at the farm loving our every day life.
I have made many friends over the years through horse shows, dog competitions and then through animal rescue. I thought it might be nice to share with everyone else that might read this page some of the amazing readings that were passed to me by them in a time of sorrow over my beloved pets. Perhaps they might also help one of you to pass through the process of loosing your devoted companions as well. In loving memory of Snuffy, Wally, Gunner, Teddy and Buck.
Sonja Blanchard
My horse and cat were with me for so many years and I could see them fading and moving on to a better place where animals pass to. Teddy had been my solid kitty companion at work where he ate lunch on my lap and passed his days lounging on my desk. He had quite a life and enjoyed every minute of it as he pleased. His passing was hard as was Bucks, a beautiful Buckskin QH gelding who had graced our pastures and loved me well for the past 19 years.
But for me my dogs passings were even harder. For 10-14 years they traveled everywhere I did, moved when I did, and were my constant guardians and friends. Each of them had their special traits and qualities that made me love them with all my heart. They got me through marriage, divorce, broken bones and many, many happy times. We spent many a days on the agility course running and playing and many more at the farm loving our every day life.
I have made many friends over the years through horse shows, dog competitions and then through animal rescue. I thought it might be nice to share with everyone else that might read this page some of the amazing readings that were passed to me by them in a time of sorrow over my beloved pets. Perhaps they might also help one of you to pass through the process of loosing your devoted companions as well. In loving memory of Snuffy, Wally, Gunner, Teddy and Buck.
Sonja Blanchard
It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them. And every new dog who comes into my life gifts me with a piece of their heart. If I live long enough, all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are."
Wade and Shadow
Wade and Shadow
There is a cycle of love and death that shapes the lives of those who choose to travel in the company of animals. It is a cycle unlike no other. To those who have never lived through its turnings or walked its rocky path, our willingness to give our hearts with full knowledge that they will be broken seems incomprehensible. Only we know how small a price we pay for what we receive; our grief, no matter how powerful it may be, is an insufficient measure of the joy we have been given…
I talk to him when I'm lonesome like; and I'm sure he understands. When he looks at me so attentively, and gently licks my hands; then he rubs his nose on my tailored clothes, but I never say naught thereat. For the good Lord knows I can buy more clothes, but never a friend like that.
W. Dayton Wedgefarth
W. Dayton Wedgefarth
WHAT IS DYING?
A ship sails and I stand watching till she fades on the horizon, and someone says, "she is gone."
Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all; she is just as large as when I saw her...
The diminished size and total loss of sight is in me, not in her, and just at the moment when someone says "she is gone," there are others who are watching her coming, and other voices take up a glad shout, "there she comes!"
... and that is dying.
Bishop Brent
A ship sails and I stand watching till she fades on the horizon, and someone says, "she is gone."
Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all; she is just as large as when I saw her...
The diminished size and total loss of sight is in me, not in her, and just at the moment when someone says "she is gone," there are others who are watching her coming, and other voices take up a glad shout, "there she comes!"
... and that is dying.
Bishop Brent
Godspeed
Like a mist, consciousness drifted over the drowsing group.
Here and there a muzzle lifted so the owner could scent-scan the air. A dozen pairs of ears swiveled and then pricked. She was coming. One by one, they sensed her approach.
A heavy tail thumped as a Samoyed gazed down the starry path. It had been a long time for him, this waiting. No matter, the feel of her caress was fresh and unfaded.
He had slumbered for over forty years, paws twitching, dreaming of her arrival and of dashes on mountain trails. He never knew when his breath had frozen mid-dream. He just continued his sleepy vigil.
“She comes.´ his knowledge passed from dog to dog. A shaggy form rose and yawned. How many steps had he taken by her side through busy happy years, through lean and bitter years? Nearby, a nervous whine escaped the wolfish throat
of a more anxious creature.
A shifting of weight from paw to paw betrayed the restlessness of the show dog.
His immaculate coat showed now rumpling from his long repose. Beside him,
a little bitch crept forward to peer between the shoulder of those in front of her.
Across the broad expanse, dogs were rising, throwing off the effects of their deep slumber. Ice crystals from New England, the Rockies, Alaska, the Arctic and Antarctic were flung into the air to mingle and fall with a minute tinkling sound.
They all knew she loved them. The unchangeable law that a dog’s life is of short duration compared to man’s had doomed her to countless partings. Her dogs
would be waiting, the old timers said, to pull her sled throughout eternity.
The musher’s legend had comforted her and years later when she was frail and aged, she would think of her dogs resting expectantly, timelessly until the reunion should come. Could such a lovely thought come true? Closer. She was very near now. A small fox of a Siberian stirred and climbed to her feet. She was dwarfed by a gray giant who had pushed to the front of the crowd. They shared a question, “who will lead to the mistress?”
The answer came as a massive paw extended and flexed. Tawny fur quivered
as the dog stretched and shook off decades of sleep. The mistress’ first lead dog would be her leader now. The great dog went to stand far ahead of a grey-weathered sled. Slowly, tentatively, the multitude found their places. The legend was coming alive. A promise was being kept.
A chubby clownish face turned to look back. It split into the trademark Husky grin. All stood ready. She was here. The mistress stepped across the threshold and paused. Her breath caught. Her heart thumped its last beat. The scene cleared before her as years fell away from her eyes, her body. It was true – all as it had been foretold.
A team of a thousand strong stood before her. Sled dogs of every description…each
a well loved friend eager to be away, to race down the trail. A querying bark from
the golden dog broke her reverie. She smiled. With the swift free motion of a youth,
she stepped upon the runners and placed her hand on the bow. Team, sled, and driver sprang ahead and vanished in a flurry of snowflakes and windrush.
Godspeed.
Author Unknown
Like a mist, consciousness drifted over the drowsing group.
Here and there a muzzle lifted so the owner could scent-scan the air. A dozen pairs of ears swiveled and then pricked. She was coming. One by one, they sensed her approach.
A heavy tail thumped as a Samoyed gazed down the starry path. It had been a long time for him, this waiting. No matter, the feel of her caress was fresh and unfaded.
He had slumbered for over forty years, paws twitching, dreaming of her arrival and of dashes on mountain trails. He never knew when his breath had frozen mid-dream. He just continued his sleepy vigil.
“She comes.´ his knowledge passed from dog to dog. A shaggy form rose and yawned. How many steps had he taken by her side through busy happy years, through lean and bitter years? Nearby, a nervous whine escaped the wolfish throat
of a more anxious creature.
A shifting of weight from paw to paw betrayed the restlessness of the show dog.
His immaculate coat showed now rumpling from his long repose. Beside him,
a little bitch crept forward to peer between the shoulder of those in front of her.
Across the broad expanse, dogs were rising, throwing off the effects of their deep slumber. Ice crystals from New England, the Rockies, Alaska, the Arctic and Antarctic were flung into the air to mingle and fall with a minute tinkling sound.
They all knew she loved them. The unchangeable law that a dog’s life is of short duration compared to man’s had doomed her to countless partings. Her dogs
would be waiting, the old timers said, to pull her sled throughout eternity.
The musher’s legend had comforted her and years later when she was frail and aged, she would think of her dogs resting expectantly, timelessly until the reunion should come. Could such a lovely thought come true? Closer. She was very near now. A small fox of a Siberian stirred and climbed to her feet. She was dwarfed by a gray giant who had pushed to the front of the crowd. They shared a question, “who will lead to the mistress?”
The answer came as a massive paw extended and flexed. Tawny fur quivered
as the dog stretched and shook off decades of sleep. The mistress’ first lead dog would be her leader now. The great dog went to stand far ahead of a grey-weathered sled. Slowly, tentatively, the multitude found their places. The legend was coming alive. A promise was being kept.
A chubby clownish face turned to look back. It split into the trademark Husky grin. All stood ready. She was here. The mistress stepped across the threshold and paused. Her breath caught. Her heart thumped its last beat. The scene cleared before her as years fell away from her eyes, her body. It was true – all as it had been foretold.
A team of a thousand strong stood before her. Sled dogs of every description…each
a well loved friend eager to be away, to race down the trail. A querying bark from
the golden dog broke her reverie. She smiled. With the swift free motion of a youth,
she stepped upon the runners and placed her hand on the bow. Team, sled, and driver sprang ahead and vanished in a flurry of snowflakes and windrush.
Godspeed.
Author Unknown
