February 16th, 2008:
So, like I said, since the loss of Quinn, healing is taking place. The fact that I carry a camera strapped to my belt all of the time is probably pretty weird, but it did result in having a good starting point for a 'Tribute to Quinn' video and image summary. So now, a full 2-weeks later, I am still working on a summary DVD. The first 'final' cut (everything from May 7, 2005 through February 1, 2008) resulted in a 2-hour plus summary. (Five seconds for each still image and the additional video clips taking whatever time the actual video was). So, with a couple of more revisions, I'll finally have the tribute done. I'll probably put together just a YouTube version, too. Otherwise ... day to day life goes on ... each one is precious. Do your best!
February 13th, 2008:
Time has passed since the Quinn entry ... healing has taken place. Life goes on.
The weather here has been almost a real winter as opposed to what many call "wimpy winters". Our snow depth has been holding at between 10-14" since late December. This week has seen a change to milder days and some rain. As a result, the snow pack has been reduced to about 1/2 of what it was just a couple of days ago. Walking has become a slippery experience and the stable-icers were added to the daily footware to provide traction. There was a new snowfall of about 1" to 1 1/2" overnight to reduce the slipperyness, but the boot tracks turn to slush as I walk out to the field to feed the horses.
Life is good!
February 5th, 2008: Quinn Healing Update
Thank you to all who have commented ... and to those who may in the future.
Time is passing ... healing is taking place.
February 1st, 2008: Original Quinn entry
(May 7, 2005 - February 1, 2008)
It is a sad day at the ranch today.
Quinn didn't come home.
A short, too short, life.
Just sadness fills my mind now.
I am not even really able to think too much.
I held him the day he was born.
He grew fast, and seemingly strong.
As tall as his mom already and just as calm.
Ready for a brushing anytime, just to be close.
Never mean, often fun.
So quickly gone.
The sadness hurts deeply.
He was just a horse, after all.
Just a horse.
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, 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 each 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. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body begins to quiver.
Suddenly he begins to run 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 caress 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....
Quinn Day One
Somewhere Over the Rainbow - By Connie Talbot
Since the Quinn entry was related to a personal loss, I decided to go back through some old files I had created and pull together, in one place, my thoughts after some of the other major losses that have impacted me. This is not to say that other events were not important to me, but in some cases, what I might have felt at the time was not recorded on a computer file and I haven't gone back to my diaries yet to see what I may have written. These were readily available since I had posted them to another web-site some time ago.
The three events I will add are what I wrote after my dad, my mom, and another much loved pet passed away. The date at the bottom of each is the date the event happened and the date of the original writing.
...Oh, and Dad, I Love You
What do you think about when you're eighty-three?
"I'm just a worthless old man...
Why don't you just get a gun and shoot me!"
...Yes, these are things you think about when you're eighty-three.
But there was more to be said by those who loved you.
Some didn't get a chance to say good-bye.
Others really wanted to see you again.
But it was hard to see you getting older.
So, some things didn't get said.
And some didn't get to see your eyes one more time.
Because it was hard to see you getting older.
As a man grows older, each day leads to his final goal.
There are stops along the way.
Each one adds to life another day.
There are granite quarries, and motor-cycle stories.
Days add family and friends as you follow life's path.
And age...so it was hard to see you getting older.
I looked at you today and wanted to see your smile again.
I wanted to be able to hear you say,
"Hey, get me another beer!"
Or, "I'm really not very hungry."
Or even, "I'm just a worthless old man."
I wanted to look into your eyes and try to tell you
I understood what you had said.
Not long ago I felt your frustration as
You fought the straps that held your arms and hands.
I tried to explain that it was all to help you...
To make you better...to extend your life with us.
But for you, it was a bound you wanted untied.
And now the ties have been loosened.
You are free forever.
As a man grows older,
each day leads to his final goal.
You have reached your goal.
My last words to you were,
"Take care of yourself Dad!"
You said, "I always do".
Now, I understand too...
Oh, and Dad, I love you!
dml - March 20, 1991
You Are My Mom
My source of strength, my life,
My every breath I owe to you.
You made me see, you made me hear,
You let me speak, you let me learn.
You never said I had to be like you,
And whatever I wanted you let me do.
If I made you happy you let me know,
And when I made you sad, you didn't let it show.
So many memories that I cannot list them.
But I'll have, forever, again and again.
I have no regrets, no words that weren't said.
Oh, maybe just a couple, as I search through my head.
But the life that you gave me will be here tomorrow.
And even though times may seem grim with my sorrow,
I'll remember your laugh, your fine smile, your deep care.
Which will help me with a strength that will always be there.
Then the sorrow will be calmed, the grim times will go.
Instead of darkness and sadness, life will continue and grow.
For you are the strength that I came from.
My reason for being, you are my Mom.
dml - March 3, 1996
April 1979 - August 19, 1995
He was just a dog. And then some. Today we had to put him to sleep. I am very sad. As Patti said, "How could something so small, give so much joy and love."
It was true, he was small. As I lifted him from the tiny cardboard box we carried him home in and placed him into the wooden box that at one time was his biking box, I truly knew that he was dead. His head and legs just drooped, unsupported by life, and I rearranged his body in a typical Gulliver curl into his final resting place.
Patti came out soon afterward, and placed a couple of toys with him. She continued to pet him as I dug a small grave for him among the trees we had many years ago planted and called Patti, Dan, and Gulliver. He now rests there, nearest the Gulliver tree.
I expect memories of him will be with me for all my life. I hope so. Memories of a dog that could keep up with me when I ran six mile runs while getting ready to run a marathon. Memories of his ears flying straight back and him looking over, almost surely smiling, as he ran in the boulevard while I biked in the street. Memories of him curled comfortably, either on someone's lap, or just in a sunbeam. Memories of him lying on the deck at the cabin watching for chipmunks in the woodpile. Memories of Gulliver the wilderness dog. He liked the cabin site the best. I suppose it may have been best to take him to the cabin for a final burial. Maybe we'll move him there some day.
If sadness is any indication of how much love something gave to a person, I think Gulliver must have given love to the maximum. For I can just barely see these words as I write them through tear filled eyes.
dml – August 19, 1995