10:35 AM Fri, Mar 28, 2008 | Permalink
Beth Heaney  Email
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While hanging a birdfeeder on a tree over my little pet cemetery behind the house one Saturday a couple of weeks ago, I noticed the daffodils starting up through the soil over the spots where I laid some of our beloved pets to rest years ago.
I knelt to touch the sharp tips coming through the pine needles and the deep feeling of sadness moved in on the backs of sweet pet memories.
Daffodils marked the spot where I buried the best dog who ever lived, my black Great Dane, Spade, and and at that moment his memory was vivid. He prefered to lean on me than to lick my face. We were fortunate to be able to adopt him at the tender age of one from the people who lived here before us. He lived a good long life chasing rabbits and protecting our family out there in the woods, but began to fail the very year my daughters were born.
More daffodils over my calico cat, Goldie – rescued from the animal shelter when I moved there 22 years ago. She stole my heart and changed my mind after I had nearly adopted the big cat in the cage next to her. She cost me $5.00 and then a whole lot more once I got her home and found out how ill she was. She lived to be almost 14.
An Easter lily was not yet visible over the place where we buried spunky little Chance, our first Airedale terrier, who left us early on.
And finally, a cluster of crocus over a tiny sunken spot taken by an unnamed newborn kitten, forgotten and left alone by her mom frantically moving her litter on a night that was just too cold.
This spring, I've got to find a perennial to mark the spot where Dennis, my daughter's gerbil, is buried along with a jar containing a handwritten message, explaining how much that little gerbil meant to her.
Fletcher, my dog, came by to see what I was looking at so close to the ground and I began to tell him all about his predecessors. But he wasn't interested. He just wanted me to shut up and throw a stick.
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That poor kitten...
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Hi, Mom, just wanted to say hello. And also, the everyone who has read my mother, Beth Heaney's posts, that the gerbil's name was Jake. I would know. He was mine, ad he was just a gerbil. But the passing of a pet that brought you so much happiness really does cause to fondly recall days when you would stumble out of your bedroom to go to school (at a ridiculous hour), and see a cute fuzzy face staring back at you. Anyways, keep reading my mom's blog because she really loves gardening and her posts show it =)
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Looks like the kids are reading the blog. Sorry about the gerbil's name, but I have to admit I could never tell them apart from the day we bought them.
And to Trudy, I had to give the little kitten a proper burial. Her mom, a skittish outdoor cat, was left with me with the guarantee that she was spayed. She wasn't. And when she delivered the kittens, she did so in the woods and stashed them within a stone wall in the back of our property. I gathered them up and brought them to our barn,keeping them in an enclosed space, but one night, she took them all back to the woods and left one, which I found just a little too late. I tried to keep them near so I could find homes for them and not allow them to become strays themselves. It didn't work out the way I'd hoped, unfortunately for the little one, but they did all get homes, thank goodness. Mom was spayed soon afterwards.
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