Willow Two passed Nov. 20

 

We lost the farm dog Willow Two in Nov. Although unrelated, she looked

a lot like the original Willow shown in the blog banner. She was the sweetest 

of dogs and beloved by the whole family. She has a friend to foxes and a

terror to snakes. She liked to excavate a hole  at the bottom of the side 

steps to use for naps. And she loved snacks.

She was a good dog.

"Because of the dog's joyfulness, our own is increased. It is no small gift.

 It is not the least reason why we should honor as love the dog of our own life, 

and the dog down the street, and all the dogs not yet born."

Mary Oliver

I am having trouble with my external drive and was limited

 in the number of photos I can access.

Shaun 2002 - Feb. 28, 2020

 

Shaun

After an hour of tests at the vet’s

you sat on my lap so quietly 

waiting for the verdict.

They said you were in great shape for a dog so old,

and with a bit of attitude. 

I was so proud of you,

you were so patient and good

so content to sit there.

A few weeks later you were gone

The last week I made your favourite, spaghetti 

to be sure you would have some,

then let you finish mine.

Going for a walk

two days after

I turned down a side street.

Because I could not face the curve of Northmount drive

where you liked to stop and lift you leg against every other poplar,

as we waited impatient to get home.

I wonder now, as we walk the neighbourhood whether

the other dogs will unexpectedly smell you against this tree,

that rock and find,

as I do while standing at the kitchen counter

or rolling over in bed,

some happy memory of you.

First Draft (it took a year)

Remembering

The next two photos are Wendolene and Shaun's mugshots 

from the Calgary Humane Society.

Pelican 1

"A wonderful bird is the pelican
His bill can hold more than his belican
He can take in his beak
Food enough for a week
But I'm damned if I see how the helican "

by Dixon Lanier Merritt ( I guess the attribtion has changed )

But it was one of my father-in-law's favorite poems.

The Past

    My parents lived through trauma of the depression, followed by World War Two. They raised four children from the money that my father earned in an automobile factory. Money was saved for each child's education after high school so they did not have to work in the factories as well. As with many of their generation this necessitated a certain frugality that persisted their entire lives. I do remember a momentous occasion when we got a "new" suite of matching furniture, chairs, coffee and end tables, a record player and radio in a cabinet, and the families first colour television in a matching cabinet. New was a big deal, although their nature did reassert itself, when the tv broke down the cabinet was fitted with doors and remained in our lives for years. 

The bathrooms were more typical of the frugality and homemade ethos with which they lived. They would often contain a decorative soap, hand painted with a decoupage image of flowers and legs made form pins and beads, the spare toilet paper roll would sit beneath hand some knitted cap (sadly never a poodle), on the wall maybe a reproduction of some well known painting picked up a A&P for buying a certain number of groceries and sometimes a hooked rug made by my mother. As an adult (and long since moved away), I gave my mother a crude pottery bowl I had made, it appeared in the bathroom with hold extra soaps etc. 

So recently when I wanted something to hold the toilet brush, I went not to the store but to the basement. I know they would approve. 

Please note: This can was selected because of the size. We have Scotland on our want to visit travel list.

So Much Unknown

But who shall so forcast the years

and find in loss a gain to match?

Or reach a hand through time to catch

The far-off interest of tears

Alfred Lord Tennyson 1850 In Memorian

Riffling photos so much unknown; 

unasked, the dog’s name, the smell of the park 

the colour of a hat now lost, no eyes to see, 

when so many days lay ahead; but 

the tunnel ends, alone now with cast off bags 

no one spoke, when there is time to hear

your friends name, the make of the car

All orphans to the world suddenly alone

Questions for empty rooms, empty mirrors

but who shall so forcast the years.

A legacy of things holds freight

a story of a first this or that

weddings, service, gifts cold things 

warmed by a breath of life

Held now as your absent hand

For memory, words, stories meaning attach

to the humblest thing, the simplest occasion.

Identity itself is risked in every loss

and life itself will clutch and snatch

and find in loss a gain to match?

Or in gain a loss to hatch

For each day is not a puzzle to unravel

And some nights, peace is best

Every occasion is not greater

Then the sound of dice in your hand

Sometimes from the present we detach 

new memories for old a warm touch for cold.

Like a child with a favourite book reread.

Striving with every moment to stretch

Or reach a hand through time to catch

a moment once wasted now wanted.

It seems that age can only embrace

what comes it’s way regardless.

Each loss, each parting 

each cold alone awakening.

Those unanswerable fears.

change callow youth to miser 

hoarding half remembered days.

Some long delayed reckoning nears

The far-off interest of tears

Guy

This version Sept4/05

form Glosa

" He sighed, more exhaustedly than regretfully, I thought. That morning was the last time I saw Moreland. It was also the last time I had, with anyone, the sort of talk we used to have together. Things drawing to a close, even quite suddenly, was hardly a surprise. The look Moreland had was the one people take on when a stage has been reached quite different from just being ill.

from Temporary Kings ( A Dance to the Music of Time )

by Anthony Powell

This morning we said goodbye to our cat Max. For many years, he sat with me in the morning before the rest of the house was up. And in the evening the two of us would sit in my study to read or watch hockey while the rest of the family was in the living room. This summer he spent 3 months at the cabin with us, mostly sleeping on the screened in porch in a state of feline bliss. It was only a few months ago when his health started to fail that I came to appreciate the tremendous gap he would leave.

Max and I collaborated on this poem in April of 2012

it was a happier time. Rest in love little man.

The Cat Wishes to Use the Pen

by Max

To write doubtless, 

about the space under the rug where he keeps things and 

the spot under the coffee table where he also keeps things

including himself, dreaming of jungle, he would like to

immortalize lurking unseen.

Unless he wants a drink in which case he will write 

of the white porcelain tub where he sits demanding 

a drink from the faucet. Or yowling through the house 

until someone follows him to his dish to witness 

the wonder of a feeding cat.

He would include a triumphant inventory of the 

clawed furniture, the red leather chair, the sofa, the 

good Lazy Boy. The declawed cat broke lamps but he

is all about fabric, sweaters, wedding dresses, 

comforters and of course the good Lazy Boy.

He would surely write about laying across a warm chest 

with one paw extended purring happily. But there will be

no mention of the small white dog who sniffs his butt,

let him write his own poem.

"The thudding sound from the quarry had declined now to no more than a gentle reverberation, infinitely remote. It ceased altogether at the long drawn wail of a hooter - the distant pounding of centaurs' hoofs dying away, as the last note of their conch trumpeted out over hyperborean seas. Even the formal measure of the seasons seemed suspended in the wintry silence."

from Hearing Secret Harmonies ( A Dance to the Music of Time )

by Anthony Powell

Wendolene 1999-Oct.14, 2012

In May 2006 we wanted to adopt a couple

of adult dogs who could get along. At the Humane

Society we found Angel and Curly soon named Shaun

and Wendolene ( from Wallace and Gromit ) who had come from the

same home and had to remain together. Wendolene had a deformed

front leg with one claw and teeth so rotten you could smell her

breath across the room. She immediately jumped in Helen's

lap.

Despite this, she was indomitable, ruling not only Shaun

but all of us with a loving but iron will. Although arthritis

had slowed her down and a recent diagnosis of Cushing

Syndrome weakened her, she still could rob the spaniel

puppy Whateley that we got from Animal Services few weeks ago 

to be a companion to Shaun. I remember her proudly sitting

in the living room with her good paw on his kong. While we knew

time was limited we had hoped for more time together but

Wendlone passed away Sunday Oct. 14, 2012

Adoption Photos Above

Xmas 2009 Wendolene is slowing down but

she refuses to be pulled in the wagon which

is donated to a child. As normal Shaun is

along for the ride but Wendolene calls the

shots.

She loved treats, naps and walks.

On one of the first if not the first walk we proudly

took with our new dogs we saw two young men

walking a Weimaraner and another dog of equal size

down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road

Wendolene ( under ten pounds at the time ) immediately

slipped her new pink collar and raced across the street

to give battle while Shaun frantically struggled to join her.

Life had just gotten more interesting.

In later years many walks ended the same way.

A recent trip to the Research Park pond

You will always be remembered, 
always be missed 
always be loved.

Goodbye Little Girl

"I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
In summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door."

              by J. R. R. Tolkien