Remington died a few minutes ago. There’s a lot I could write here. There’s a lot my heart wants me to write here, pages. But dead pet posts can only be written so many times. As young as he was and as much as he didn’t deserve an early end, life as George Carlin said, is a series of dogs. And we gave him a great life for so short it was.
When we choose to bring an animal into our lives we become their stewards. Rochelle and I have left the having of children to people the world needs more of, and so our pets are our children. I don’t demand anyone understand that. Some people get it, some people don’t. But mentally we make the choice that we owe them the best life possible. That’s what we trade for their trusting us with their unconditional love.
We waited ten years for Remington. Our first Golden, Hennessy, was chosen over a male we wanted to name Remington Martin. By the time we got Buddy, his name was already part of his personality. So last year along came this blond haired boy who swam like a fish and chased birds in the beautiful Snoqualmie river valley, and played with his friend Cthulhu and his pack mates Buddy and Adia. Here at last was our Remy.
His bright brown eyes, and gentle face. His head in my lap. His bark wanting attention. His puppy mischieveness. His odd taste for drywall.
I’ll always see him. Legs pumping in a rhythmic flow of long blond hair against short farm land grass, forever running at top speed to the chain link gate that let him out to the Snoqualmie river to swim.
I’ll always see him eighteen months, then gone from us.
Goodbye Remington Martin. I loved you very much.
I’m going to be withdrawing from the Internet for a while. Rochelle and I will be ok. But right now there’s no joy in the world for me. And I know that’s not right, because there’s plenty of joy in the world. But I’m going to have to go find it.
I’ll let you know when I come back.