A poem: Creation

Creation

When God had made the Earth and sky,
the flowers and the trees,
He then made all the animals,
the fish, the birds and bees.
And when at last  He'd finished
not one was quite the same.
He said I'll walk this world of mine
and give each one a name.
And so He traveled far and wide
and everywhere He went,
a little creature followed Him
until its strength was spent.
When all were named upon the Earth
and in the Sky and Sea,
the little creature said, "Dear Lord,
there's no name left for me."
Kindly the Father said to him
"I've left you to the end.
I've turned my own name back to front
and called you Dog, my friend."

-author unknown

Memories, images, good times

 We've had so many great adventures!

 Christmas in Jefferson, near the beach and state park...and ice cream.

 Hoping for a snack from the kitchen

 Sniffing and hiking the woods trails

 Sniffing the ocean breeze

 Visiting friends

 Exploring new places and familiar places in all kinds of weather

 And sleeping in

 going to the beach

 soaking up the sun

 so many sniff-ventures!

Silence, not silence

    

 In the silence, in the absence of Sylvia, her spirit lingers here.

 I hear the gentle clacking of her paws on the wood floors, the rattle of her collar as she shakes off a doze on her bed or even just the soft sound of her movements, her presence.

These objects she left behind, the squeeky toys, plush blankets, fur tumbleweeds in the corners of the room are reminders, but what really sticks in my mind and to my soul are these sounds only I can hear.

I combed my fingers through her soft fur,
her body still warm to my touch
and I could see her belly
moved no longer,
that pinkness
gone
from her nose, too.

Before, as she lay with her head up,
her panting and sniffing the air
I peered into her deep eyes--
nearly closed shut
"Sylvia...
Do you want to keep fighting?
Do you want to keep going?"
Her eyes were nearly shut,
her breath slight
a pocket of drool hesitated on her lip's edge.
She didn't want to say, "goodbye"
and though I needed her to tell me it was time
her suffering, her gaze toward another, far off place
told me she was on her way.
She could not speak, the illness had bit her tongue
Sylvia,
like she had always done,
lived and relished the good parts.
In hardships large and small,
always Sylvia
Found
 a good sniff
a comfortable spot to rest
a sliver of sun
a gentle breeze.

Earlier, she Found me--
a broken, wounded
and strange bird--
then nudged up next to me,
loved me,
Befriended me
and never left my side.
She showed me the best sniffs
buried amongst all the rubble,
dug up happiness
and dropped it at my feet.
She followed me through tough, uphill climbs,
through thick brush
and down winding narrow trails
to mountainous heights
and to the break of crashing waves
at the very end of this world.

I know it's a shock.
Bear with me, for I can't believe it myself. More to follow soon.

Sylvia's Last Ride
She closed her eyes and raised her nose to sniff the wind howling through the open windows of the car as we thundered down Harbor Road past bright green fields sweeping down to the river and grazing cattle.
Sylvia shut her eyes to this world and entered another even more amazing and stunning world on May 29, 2015 around 4 o'clock in the afternoon. She had suffered quite a bit from a failing kidney and bladder infection, but she still focused on the good things in life: The great outdoors, wonderful sniffs in the breeze, the chirping and chatter of birds in the trees nearby and the sound of the voices of the people who loved her so much.
This is only the beginning,
for her and for us all. More pictures will appear here and words to describe what a remarkable dog Sylvia was in this life.
God bless you, dear sweet Sylvia. We loved you, we send you love. Farewell, my good friend. 

 Here we are again, basking in the warm spring sun. Can you guess where we are now?

 Yep, we're back on Swans Island for another weekend.

 This beach thankfully doesn't change much, but it's always a pleasant place to come back to.

 The lighthouse on Swans Island is maintained by volunteers, I believe. You can visit the museum and climb up into the lighthouse tower in the summer. Too bad Sylvia can't climb up there, but she's just as happy (probably more happy and content) sniffing all around the island.

 There are so many beutiful places to see and sniff.

Back in Whitefield

 Sylvia and I stopped by Tom Maguire's Books in Whitefield, to peruse some books (of course!) and to sniff around the grounds

 I missed this view. See the old, rusty farm equipment piled up on that big boulder? There are thousands of old farm machinery parts and old car bodies rusting away in these Maine woods. If you've been following along, you might remember an artist who crafted fantastic metal sculptures out of these rusty metal parts. He once stopped by for a visit.

 Sylvia seemed quite content out in Whitefield. It is a serene spot in a crazy world.

 And you might find some really smelly, tasty thing on the ground to chew on!