Last Monday, December 7, at 9:50 a.m., our beautiful little girl, our lovely miniature dachshund, Little Lady - affectionately known as "Button" - died in my wife's arms. She was 19 years old; just two weeks away from her 20th birthday.
As she lay in her favorite blanket on my wife's lap as we took her to be blessed after her passing, I kept reaching over to rub her fur and caress under her neck, two things she loved. After the priest blessed her and we took her to the vet for cremation, one of the workers waited calmly and respectfully to take her from me as I held her in the blanket. As me, my wife, and my daugher all cried, I asked my daughter to pull my mask down so I could kiss Button's little black nose one last time. The nose was still wet, and somewhat cold on the chilly, sunny morning. It was my parting from her, my final act of love towards her here on earth.
We did, and the pink ribbons are from that morning.
The spots where her two beds were in the dining room and living room are barren now. She no longer struggles to walk from her bed to her food and water bowls, and everything is much quieter. I - we - feel empty. But I believe - in fact, I know - that we will see "Button" again one day. I firmly believe that, even as I cry so many tears. There was something very special about this 6 pound little girl. Nothing but love ever filled her. She lives that love now in Heaven. Love, Steve
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My Sundays are down days; a day to avoid my writing desk and writing in general. The above two photos, and the rest to follow, were taken at an Essex County, New Jersey industrial park, a neighbor of a major highway and much traffic. I thought the fence next to the dead and overgrown brush were a nice match, and the decaying shoots in front of the somewhat-painted rock a nice contrast. Greenery does "live" in autumn, however, depending on the species of plant. Of course, this is all to prove that beauty - which is relative to the individual - is displayed in both the bright as well as the "dim. " It's about perspective. Here's a key thing, too. It's not only about what you see, but what you feel. A walk in nature, which is, yes, seeing - color in both the decay and vibrancy of growth, watching birds land and squirrels scurry quickly from vine to branch - but also emotion; a freedom. A chance to breath easier.
Finally, it's about what you take with you, maybe not physically but mentally. You'll want to do this again, get away to something that calms you, becomes "part" of you. Steve |
Steve Sears is a New Jersey based freelance writer
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