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The rainbowbridge
To the commemoration at all our four-legged friends, that has already gone from us and will go as well.
A loan
"I will lend you this puppy for a while", God says. "With it you it loves, while it lives and you mourn with it forit, if it has gone. Maybe for twelve or fourteen years, or maybe also only two or three. But you become until I call back it, for it provides? It will please you with all its charm and its stay should also be only short, you will always remember it, also in your biggest sorrow. I cannot promise you that it will remain because all of the earth come back. But there are things, that are learned here, that this puppy should learn.
I have looked around the whole world in order to find a suitable teacher. And from all people, that romps about on the earth, I have chosen you.
Now, will you give it all your love, not the inevitable shuns, still me hates, if I lose to get back it?
I loved it if they said: , My God, your will happens! ‘defiance of all joy, that this puppy will bring you, enters the risk of pain you. Will you lift it with tenderness, will you love it, while you are allowed to, and do you become for the luck that you will meet it, for always grateful is?
But I should call back it earlier, please as you calculate, carry the bitter pain bravely, that comes and tries to understand. Remember it, as you could it with your love of umhegen, hold on each moment of your familiar bond and are sure:
It also loves you."
Taken from: Mein Hund-natürlich gesund, author unknown
Aaron aus dem Düppel 18.8.1997 - 7.4.2004
If you think, it goes no longer, a light comes ettes somewhere...
For Aaron, it was the light of the tunnel in the end.
Today tomorrow at 8.45 o'clock went he over the rainbow.
I will never forget his incomparable nature.
"I will lend you this puppy for a while", God says. "With it you it loves, while it lives and you mourn with it forit, if it has gone. Maybe for twelve or fourteen years, or maybe also only two or three. But you become until I call back it, for it provides? It will please you with all its charm and its stay should also be only short, you will always remember it, also in your biggest sorrow. I cannot promise you that it will remain because all of the earth come back. But there are things, that are learned here, that this puppy should learn.
I have looked around the whole world in order to find a suitable teacher. And from all people, that romps about on the earth, I have chosen you.
Now, will you give it all your love, not the inevitable shuns, still me hates, if I lose to get back it?
I loved it if they said: , My God, your will happens! ‘defiance of all joy, that this puppy will bring you, enters the risk of pain you. Will you lift it with tenderness, will you love it, while you are allowed to, and do you become for the luck that you will meet it, for always grateful is?
But I should call back it earlier, please as you calculate, carry the bitter pain bravely, that comes and tries to understand. Remember it, as you could it with your love of umhegen, hold on each moment of your familiar bond and are sure:
It also loves you."
Taken from: Mein Hund-natürlich gesund, author unknown
Aaron aus dem Düppel 18.8.1997 - 7.4.2004
If you think, it goes no longer, a light comes ettes somewhere...
For Aaron, it was the light of the tunnel in the end.
Today tomorrow at 8.45 o'clock went he over the rainbow.
I will never forget his incomparable nature.
The Rainbowbridge
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food and water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing: they miss someone very special to them; who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. The bright eyes are intent; the eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to break away from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
YOU have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again cares the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
THEN YOU CROSS RAINBOW BRIDGE TOGETHER...
HOW COULD YOU?
When I was a puppy I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" - but then you'd relent and roll me over for a bellyrub.
My housetraining took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed, listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.
She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" - still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love."
As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch - because your touch was now so infrequent - and I would have defended them with my life if need be.
I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams. Together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.
Now you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog or cat, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a goodbye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too.
After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you - that you had changed your mind - that this was all a bad dream...or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table, rubbed my ears and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.
She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself - a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. With my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not meant for her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.
May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
Copyright Jim Willis 2001
© 2007 by Manuela Schmidt • mailto: manuela at berger-de-beauce dot net