What's in a dog?

Once you have had a wonderful dog, a life without one, is a life diminished - Dean Koontz

Kaelyn was an old dog. But a wonderful dog. And like all wonderful dogs she left us much, much too soon, just ten days shy of what would have been her thirteenth birthday. A long life for a large breed dog, for sure. A good life, free from injury or prolonged illness. We watch our pets age and slowly decline, sometimes not so gracefully, and rationally we know they won't be with us forever. The not so rational part of us likes to assume they will be.

Dogs’ lives are too short. Their only fault, really. - Agnes Sligh Turnbull

If a dog's story is an extension of our own, then their lives and deaths as beloved family members should never be reduced to 'its just a dog'.  They should be credited as bringers of joy, unconditional love, welcome-homes and cuddlers. Foot warmers, face lickers and attentive, unbiased listeners. And sometimes, counter surfers, bed hoggers and sandwich stealers. Sure, the dog's story will end, as will ours but they too are deservant of  recognition for a life well-lived, a collection of chapters and experiences so closely interwoven with our own that we, their grieving caretakers can focus not on loss but on deeming their story complete.

Whoever said you can’t buy happiness forgot about little puppies.  - Gene Hill

Noone can argue that Kaelyn wasn't the cutest puppy on Earth.She certainly was. The day we brought her home easily makes the top 5. Those eyes! The belly! And the stale bologna puppy breath - perfect!

The first bath. And the first of many times she was a little pissed at us. She ate a lot of rocks, dirt, sticks and dead rotting fish during her puppyhood in Cleveland.

She was a first-mate to the captain.

A protector of goats.

A fearless explorer. 

A surveyor of land after leaving the city for the country.

She was a hunter of all things stuffed. Proud beside her first of many kills.

She liked to dance.

And sometimes she was an old Polish woman.

Who smokes...

She detested the vacuum, more so when I moved the furniture to clean during nap time.

She loved sleeping more than anything in the world. If we stayed up too late, she went to bed. If the weather got cold, she stayed in bed rather than come out for chores. 

Anywhere. . . anytime. . . bed hogger. 

She was so fond of napping she became a contortionist. And fit in the chihuahua's bed. 

And made good use of pillows or laps of any size, never quite realizing she weighed nearly 80 lbs.

She was an excellent mother to any and everything that needed mothering. Baby goats, human babies and stray cats. Thankfully she never quite figured out the chickens. 

She was an effective teacher each time a new misfit joined the household.

Her best friend was a cat, who misses her dearly and is clearly dissatisfied with the option of massaging me instead. 

She was a big sister to many.

And so, so tolerant of their needy behavior. 

She, like many weims, was photogenic beyond belief.

She loved to pose. Especially at the holidays, where Christmas trees equaled unattended tables and cookie trays, in other words. . . opportunity!

She was very routine. At dinner time, at treat time, at rawhide time she would sit, quite literally poking and nosing us and cocking her head side to side as we 'figured out' what she wanted. I waited and waited, sure that some day she would just spit it out and say 'give me my freaking bone already!'

And if we didn't oblige? She would often just join us at the table.

Kaelyn. A full life well-lived. She shared most of our human milestones with us and called Capra Lane Farm home for most of her adult life. She truly ruled the roost here. In a few short weeks, Capra Lane and its many inhabitants will be moving to greener, larger pastures (*more to come*) and her absence will certainly continue to linger. She was a good dog, despite her quirks, which were probably our fault anyway! We'll miss her companionship, gentle nature, loyalty, cuddliness and unyielding affection. The shoes she leaves behind won't be filled so easily.

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