Tuesday, May 1, 2012
The daisy-hued labrador
who once danced,
face turned toward the sun
on searing metal tracks
pale petals drift across the taconite
caught in eddies of melting snow.
* * *
It's been over a year now since my family's beloved young labrador retriever, Daisy, was hit by a train. It was a traumatic experience, but I finally feel like I can write about it. I took this photo of her only a couple of hours before the tragic event.
She was the smartest dog I've ever known, and loved to be with everybody, young or old or anywhere in between. Sometimes it seemed like she thought she was a human. She would sit on your lap if you let her, even though she was several times larger than a cat, and she would play fetch for hours if she could get you to cooperate. She never whined or barked for attention, and yet when the vacuum or the broom was nearby, she'd growl something fierce until it went away. She loved to chase squirrels away from my mom's birdfeeder, and she would sit at the deck door waiting for the rodents to appear.
When I was home alone, she would follow me around like a second shadow, keeping me company and making me feel safe. I loved to go on long walks with her in the woods, watching her antics and laughing at her boundless energy. She was able to cheer me up with her goofy frolics and happy face. I've never known such a truly happy dog.
I'll miss her, but now I'm able to remember the good times I had with her. I thank God for his gift during those years, and hope that perhaps one day, when I arrive at heaven's gates, a daisy-colored dog will be there to greet me with her happy smile, frolicking in celestial meadows.