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 quivers. 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....

Author unknown... 

Monday the Vet. said that, despite any treatment, Molly would never be free of her pain and discomfort, and considering her age, we should make a decision. She was totally blind in one eye and nearly so in the other which was ulcerated. Severe glaucoma both eyes. Plus nearly completely deaf. Listless and losing weight. All her joy was drained from her.

Wife and I knew we were both being selfish by waiting.

Monday afternoon we let her go to the Rainbow Bridge.

As with anyone nearing 80 YOA I have seen the loss of many shipmates, friends, close life-long buds, parents, cousins, grandparents but the loss of a pet is in a very special and unique category. That relationship is so lop sided. They have no angle. No agenda. Their needs are simple. Their patterns of behavior become tightly woven into our daily lives. And it becomes almost embarrassing to feel so deeply about an animal.

But there it is ---  and there ain't a damn thing anyone can do to push it away.

This morning around 0600 I was putting on a pot of coffee at the range when something in the house made a slight noise.  Furnace coming on?  Wall or floor creaking? Perhaps.  As always I turned and looked down for Molly. She always expected to get some small snack when you went into the kitchen: piece of dried bread, milkbone cookie, whatever.  The amount didn't matter... It was the ritual, the early morning gesture in the warm, quiet kitchen. Then she would snap it up in a gulp - turn and go back to her place and continue sleeping.

How many hundreds of mornings did that play out? I don't know. But it was as predictable as the sun rise in the east.

This morning as I watch the gray dawn spreading across the snow to the sugar bush beyond. I'm surrounded with the aroma of a percolating pot of coffee and the secure warmth of this old familiar house.

Molly wasn't there. She will never be there again. The years have passed too quickly.

No more naps together in the recliner.