l'd like to talk about dogs. 

The photo shows my grandson, 18 month old C.J. astride Moxie.  You can see how upset she is.    Moxie is a Great Pyrenees, a livestock guard dog,  who was adopted from the Florida Great Pyrenees Rescue Society, http://www.floridapyrs.org/ . Coyotes were killing my baby goats the day they were born, but we've had no coyote attacks since Moxie arrived.    It is amazing to see how gentle the Pyrs are with children, when you know they were bred before the time of Christ to rip the throat out of wolves that threatened the sheep.  Sure wish C.J. had decided to saddle up on the grass instead of the sugar-sand driveway.  This is not actually a pet related website, but I implore you to contact a Rescue Society when looking for a new pet.  All breeds are available.  There are many wonderful dogs in need of a loving home.

This was once my favorite photo - even though it is far from being quilt related, I love it.  I like that the big dogs and I have matching hair.  But my Australian Cattle Dog, Pacci, died in February of 2009, and big ole Samson died in July.  It's just me and Moxie now, so she gets lots of attention.  Not only that, but we moved in November 09, and left our sweet little goats behind.  She is no longer a working dog, but a loafing dog.  She guards our five outside cats for something to do.

Beau has been gone for more than three years now, but I still cry when I read this poem.  I often think I should take it off the website, but every time I do, someone writes to tell me about their own dog and how much it meant to them to read the tribute, so I leave it. 

I lost my little cattle dog, Pacci, in February.  I lost Samson in July.   I'm really not killing off my pets, they were very very old and very very beloved.   Pacci and Samson deserve their own poem, but it makes me cry and I just can't deal with it.

Good-Bye, Good Dog. May 1, 2006.

Today at the rib shack I asked for a doggie bag

 then remembered you weren’t here.

You didn’t come to meet me in the drive.

When I open the door, I prepare to step over you -

but the space is empty.

I sit in the old rocker at the pond,

peeking to make sure I’m not on your tail.

Or your paw. It’s no longer a worry.

I wait for you to push your sweet face

up from underneath my elbow, wait

to stroke your muzzle -

to send a pretend "smooch" your way.

But you are gone.

I will think of you this summer

when the thunder comes. I’ll probably

listen for your bark: Let me in!!

Today, I need to clean your noseprints off the glass.

But I’m not ready yet.

I should clean the long red hair from the mats.

But I won’t. Not yet.

But I filled up the cavernous hole you dug

at the back of the house.

I wish I could fill up the cavernous hole

you left in my heart.

Good dog, Beau. Good, good dog.

This poem is copyrighted and is not available for copy or print or publication in any form without my written permission.   TP