tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8732486.post4781545180004171608..comments2023-10-26T03:19:41.569-07:00Comments on Stephen Bodio's Querencia: One more on PlumSteve Bodiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14434597061701369867noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8732486.post-57589261747586180682012-12-15T09:51:30.860-08:002012-12-15T09:51:30.860-08:00Having a large pack of canines of various ages, I ...Having a large pack of canines of various ages, I have to go through this a lot--but the advantage of having a large pack of canines of various ages is that the others are all around for comfort and to keep you going. As I like to say, "so many dogs, so little time"....I recently unexpectedley lost my beloved Hawkeye, my Salmon hound, at only 10 years old, but Notches, the Black-And-Tan "foxhound" I did a guest blog about here at Querencia, and that I logically expected to lose awhile ago, but is still staggering about at 16!... And I had an amazing dream about ALL my dogs(past and present) recently, that fits well with this(sad) topic. In the dream I was wandering about, cloaked in a misty grey blanket, looking for my dogs. As I thought of each individual dog, regardless of when in my life I had had the dog, it would appear, head first and then materialize bodily from that light, foglike blanket I was wearing! That's when I realized(in the dream) that the "blanket" was the combined spirits of all my dogs, that I carried with me forever, wherever I went, and that I could conjure up each individual just by thinking of them. The symbolism of that dream was, indeed, as comforting as a blanket!(and always will be)- Yes, Plummer, weave yourself into the protective canine spirit blanket of the Bodio pack, forever!....L.B.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8732486.post-84688853753131097722012-12-14T23:33:54.964-08:002012-12-14T23:33:54.964-08:00So sorry about your old Plummer. Here's a poe...So sorry about your old Plummer. Here's a poem from Bill Collins to cheer you up.<br /><br />Dharma<br />by Billy Collins<br />The way the dog trots out the front door<br />every morning<br />without a hat or an umbrella,<br />without any money<br />or the keys to her doghouse<br />never fails to fill the saucer of my heart<br />with milky admiration.<br />Who provides a finer example<br />of a life without encumbrance—<br />Thoreau in his curtainless hut<br />with a single plate, a single spoon?<br />Gandhi with his staff and his holy diapers?<br />Off she goes into the material world<br />with nothing but her brown coat<br />and her modest blue collar,<br />following only her wet nose, <br />the twin portals of her steady breathing,<br />followed only by the plume of her tail.<br />If only she did not shove the cat aside<br />every morning<br />and eat all his food<br />what a model of self-containment she<br />would be,<br />what a paragon of earthly detachment.<br />If only she were not so eager <br />for a rub behind the ears,<br />so acrobatic in her welcomes,<br />if only I were not her god.Unknownhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12911890181898877308noreply@blogger.com