"The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of its master.”
-Ben Hur Lampman
Everyone has a rock – an ever reliable place or person or thing that remains steadfast and true, and to which they can always turn. It's certain and constant like the stars in the sky. Naturally mine has always been my wife and also my children. I crave time with them more than anything. And they are always there for me. But despite this undeniable truth, I’ve always liked to say that my best friend is my dog. For my Lex too has been a rock of sorts for me for over fifteen years. Think about that. Since I was thirty-four, she’s been ever present under-foot and within my heart. And yesterday she was put to rest seemingly with as much current grief as past joy. And as silly as this may sound, I wonder today if I’ll ever stop missing her. Some companions are so dear and some loyalties are so deep as to beg the question.
After careful study and a lengthy search we finally found just the right pet for our young daughters about 250 miles (400 km) due east in Amana, Iowa. Named after a reference in the Old Testament Song of Songs, the Amana Colonies have become one of America's longest-lived and largest religious communal societies. They live a simple life and produce various fruit wines and jams, fine hand crafted furniture, jewelry and visual arts. The craftsmen who inhabit the Amana Colonies remain faithful to the customs and workmanship of their 160 year old historical past. And the irony of finding a loyal family pet here is that the word “Amana” means “to remain faithful”.
“Come with me…descend from the crest of Amana. You have stolen my heart…with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace.”
-Song of Songs 4:8-9 (New International Version)
A miniature American Eskimo puppy carefully bread with the pure distinction of her seven generation purple ribbon heritage, she would be the smallest of six siblings and the last for adoption. After making the proper arrangements we loaded up our daughters, ages 10, 7 and 4 for a fine family vacation to the Amana Colonies. And on the last day of our trip we drove to her farm, were formally introduced and brought her home to our hearts. And true to verse, she had stolen our hearts indeed with one glance of her eyes. I still recall this first sight. At six weeks old, she was a cute little snowball of energy with pointy white ears, two black eyes, a black nose, a reaching red tongue and a curly wisp of a tail. Our girls coddled and giggled and their parents beamed with delight at their children’s happiness. And we all loved her immediately.
And so it was that Lexi Mae Bailey Bud found her way into our hearts and into our young family. She quickly elevated herself from our first family “pet” to her permanent status more akin to sister/daughter/companion. She was a tireless playmate, a seductive snuggler, an eager indulger, a watchful governess, a trusted sentry, a gracious greeting host, and an ever contented and prideful observer of her family. She was a very good dog.
And she and I had a special friendship…the guardians of the home. In her (and my) younger years I would spend many long hours on projects around the house. I toiled at the lawn, landscape, basement finish, car washing, etc. And Lexi was always there – my shadow. She would follow me from place to place and then sit or lay. She would watch and I would work. And she enjoyed my talking to her. I would ask or tell and then wait and respond to what she must have been thinking of saying. We had many “conversations” in this way. I guess we still can.
But she aged as I aged. And over the years we worked in the sun less and sat in the shade more. We ran less and drank more. The stairs became steeper and the walks became shorter and our ribs became, well…deeper within. We aged together. Then our eyes went…all four of them at about the same time. Her world shrank into one of foggy near-sightedness and mine to the curse of reading glasses. Her hearing began to fail a couple of years ago.
And with the recent passing of Dover, and being almost four years her senior, our Lexi began a steady decline. Deaf and nearly blind, she slept most of the day and required medication (baby aspirin) twice daily to ease the suffering pains of advancing arthritis and general stiffness of joints - another parallel to my aging self. And in these past few weeks she began to experience much difficulty walking or even standing. We carried her in and out and up and down. We held her to eat and steadied her in the yard. Her weakening of hips and tangling of feet was brought about by a combination of atrophy of hip muscles and diminishing of signal from brain through spinal cord to nerve receptors in the hind legs. Having given her all for our family, she was ready.
The other day, after waiting patiently at the door, I decided to sit down on the steps and watch as Lexi ambled around in the garage. She circled the cars again and again, slowly but surely as if in search. I sensed that her prey was distant – in the past maybe. What could it be...Dover perhaps or maybe our children in their youth? I hoped she would find it and then present it to me as a prize. And in a way I guess her searching did bring them back as I found myself lost in memories…
I remembered a crisp Christmas morning ripe with promise. Denise and I stood at a window before the warmth of the fireplace and watched as Lexi and Dover and J, M and K played in the snow. The winter cold and their cheerful sounds remained beyond the glass but their silent joy filled our hearts. The girls stomped through the knee-high drifts and then collapsed into a giggling heap in the snow. And our two white dogs bounded through the powdery mix in steady pursuit. White on white they appeared from our distance as black eyes and noses floating over the snow in defiance of its cold and pure whiteness.
There was our road trip to South Bend, Indiana with dogs in tow – Lexi and Dover’s Big Adventure (click here). Our two dogs seemed so enthralled with the vastness of the world beyond our home and grounds. Or perhaps they were simply excited to be traveling together with the family.
I thought of our longstanding tradition of a McDonald’s hamburger for both of their dinners on each of their birthdays. Remarkably, Lexi and Dover’s birthdays, being March 24 and September 25 respectively, were precisely six months (and one day) apart so this semiannual tradition was equally spaced within each calendar year.
And I recalled the untimely death of our beloved Dover (click here) just days before her eleventh birthday. When Lex and I found ourselves at home alone on September 25 I loaded her up in the car and we drove to McDonald’s. We ordered two hamburgers at the drive through and sat together outside in the grass at McDonald’s and carried on the tradition. Then for good measure we drove to Dairy Queen and enjoyed a couple of ice cream cones in their grass.
I remember Lexi as the enforcer of rules such as no yelling and screaming games in the house, no throwing in the house and no running in the house. And as the girls would run from room to room squealing with joy in some game, Lexi would give chase barking and nipping at their little behinds until they slowed to a more lawful pace - except for our youngest K. I remember her simply learning to run with her hands behind cupping her little cheeks like some sort of butt shield.
I remember our Lexi as a proud dog, never really accepting her dogness. She sounded her warning in advance of the doorbell and stood vigil at night from her perch on our bed. And when we were gone at work or at school,
she sat at the window and waited. I remember her nuzzling comfort in an effort to shoulder some grief in times of sorrow. I remembered her baths in the kitchen sink, her snooping through Christmas gifts, her theft of Santa’s cookies, her tolerance of young Dover, her fear of Fireworks, her favorite place over the air conditioning vent, her sentry post on the stairs and her love…no, lust for grilled salmon.
As Lexi continued her pace around the garage I thought about how our home was the bulk of her world. And as I thought of her and her life here in our home, I caught myself in wonder of how much our house really knows. I surmised that our house probably knows a great deal about everyone in our family but especially the dogs who never leave. I wondered how many hours our house stood silently by and watched Lexi peering out of its windows anxiously awaiting the return of her family. How many days did our house comfort and shelter her from the cold of winter or the heat of summer or the dampness of drizzle. And how many times did our house witness her silent despair as her family piled into the car and drove away for an hour or a day or a weekend. And then it would witness her patiently awaiting our eventual return only to then offer unto us her unconditional loyalty and affection. Yes, our house knows a great deal about the life of our Lexi.
…And when I returned to the present I found Lexi sitting patiently at my feet and waiting for me to scoop her up and carry her into the house. What a gift these precious memories have become. I’ll carry them in my heart forever.
It’s so tragic to witness the decline of a pet so dear to your heart. She raised our three daughters and offered us all her unwavering obedience and steadfast companionship. And now our beloved Lexi will bide her time beneath the shade of a sturdy oak deep within our mortal hearts and leaping through our conscious dreams. And she’ll watch over our Dover who'll give chase in the grass and dance in the sun. And I trust that they are both at peace and that they are happily waiting there ever so loyal and patiently for me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-Ben Hur Lampman
Everyone has a rock – an ever reliable place or person or thing that remains steadfast and true, and to which they can always turn. It's certain and constant like the stars in the sky. Naturally mine has always been my wife and also my children. I crave time with them more than anything. And they are always there for me. But despite this undeniable truth, I’ve always liked to say that my best friend is my dog. For my Lex too has been a rock of sorts for me for over fifteen years. Think about that. Since I was thirty-four, she’s been ever present under-foot and within my heart. And yesterday she was put to rest seemingly with as much current grief as past joy. And as silly as this may sound, I wonder today if I’ll ever stop missing her. Some companions are so dear and some loyalties are so deep as to beg the question.After careful study and a lengthy search we finally found just the right pet for our young daughters about 250 miles (400 km) due east in Amana, Iowa. Named after a reference in the Old Testament Song of Songs, the Amana Colonies have become one of America's longest-lived and largest religious communal societies. They live a simple life and produce various fruit wines and jams, fine hand crafted furniture, jewelry and visual arts. The craftsmen who inhabit the Amana Colonies remain faithful to the customs and workmanship of their 160 year old historical past. And the irony of finding a loyal family pet here is that the word “Amana” means “to remain faithful”.“Come with me…descend from the crest of Amana. You have stolen my heart…with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace.”
-Song of Songs 4:8-9 (New International Version)
A miniature American Eskimo puppy carefully bread with the pure distinction of her seven generation purple ribbon heritage, she would be the smallest of six siblings and the last for adoption. After making the proper arrangements we loaded up our daughters, ages 10, 7 and 4 for a fine family vacation to the Amana Colonies. And on the last day of our trip we drove to her farm, were formally introduced and brought her home to our hearts. And true to verse, she had stolen our hearts indeed with one glance of her eyes. I still recall this first sight. At six weeks old, she was a cute little snowball of energy with pointy white ears, two black eyes, a black nose, a reaching red tongue and a curly wisp of a tail. Our girls coddled and giggled and their parents beamed with delight at their children’s happiness. And we all loved her immediately.And so it was that Lexi Mae Bailey Bud found her way into our hearts and into our young family. She quickly elevated herself from our first family “pet” to her permanent status more akin to sister/daughter/companion. She was a tireless playmate, a seductive snuggler, an eager indulger, a watchful governess, a trusted sentry, a gracious greeting host, and an ever contented and prideful observer of her family. She was a very good dog.
And she and I had a special friendship…the guardians of the home. In her (and my) younger years I would spend many long hours on projects around the house. I toiled at the lawn, landscape, basement finish, car washing, etc. And Lexi was always there – my shadow. She would follow me from place to place and then sit or lay. She would watch and I would work. And she enjoyed my talking to her. I would ask or tell and then wait and respond to what she must have been thinking of saying. We had many “conversations” in this way. I guess we still can.But she aged as I aged. And over the years we worked in the sun less and sat in the shade more. We ran less and drank more. The stairs became steeper and the walks became shorter and our ribs became, well…deeper within. We aged together. Then our eyes went…all four of them at about the same time. Her world shrank into one of foggy near-sightedness and mine to the curse of reading glasses. Her hearing began to fail a couple of years ago.
And with the recent passing of Dover, and being almost four years her senior, our Lexi began a steady decline. Deaf and nearly blind, she slept most of the day and required medication (baby aspirin) twice daily to ease the suffering pains of advancing arthritis and general stiffness of joints - another parallel to my aging self. And in these past few weeks she began to experience much difficulty walking or even standing. We carried her in and out and up and down. We held her to eat and steadied her in the yard. Her weakening of hips and tangling of feet was brought about by a combination of atrophy of hip muscles and diminishing of signal from brain through spinal cord to nerve receptors in the hind legs. Having given her all for our family, she was ready.The other day, after waiting patiently at the door, I decided to sit down on the steps and watch as Lexi ambled around in the garage. She circled the cars again and again, slowly but surely as if in search. I sensed that her prey was distant – in the past maybe. What could it be...Dover perhaps or maybe our children in their youth? I hoped she would find it and then present it to me as a prize. And in a way I guess her searching did bring them back as I found myself lost in memories…
I remembered a crisp Christmas morning ripe with promise. Denise and I stood at a window before the warmth of the fireplace and watched as Lexi and Dover and J, M and K played in the snow. The winter cold and their cheerful sounds remained beyond the glass but their silent joy filled our hearts. The girls stomped through the knee-high drifts and then collapsed into a giggling heap in the snow. And our two white dogs bounded through the powdery mix in steady pursuit. White on white they appeared from our distance as black eyes and noses floating over the snow in defiance of its cold and pure whiteness.
There was our road trip to South Bend, Indiana with dogs in tow – Lexi and Dover’s Big Adventure (click here). Our two dogs seemed so enthralled with the vastness of the world beyond our home and grounds. Or perhaps they were simply excited to be traveling together with the family.I thought of our longstanding tradition of a McDonald’s hamburger for both of their dinners on each of their birthdays. Remarkably, Lexi and Dover’s birthdays, being March 24 and September 25 respectively, were precisely six months (and one day) apart so this semiannual tradition was equally spaced within each calendar year.
And I recalled the untimely death of our beloved Dover (click here) just days before her eleventh birthday. When Lex and I found ourselves at home alone on September 25 I loaded her up in the car and we drove to McDonald’s. We ordered two hamburgers at the drive through and sat together outside in the grass at McDonald’s and carried on the tradition. Then for good measure we drove to Dairy Queen and enjoyed a couple of ice cream cones in their grass.
I remember Lexi as the enforcer of rules such as no yelling and screaming games in the house, no throwing in the house and no running in the house. And as the girls would run from room to room squealing with joy in some game, Lexi would give chase barking and nipping at their little behinds until they slowed to a more lawful pace - except for our youngest K. I remember her simply learning to run with her hands behind cupping her little cheeks like some sort of butt shield.I remember our Lexi as a proud dog, never really accepting her dogness. She sounded her warning in advance of the doorbell and stood vigil at night from her perch on our bed. And when we were gone at work or at school,
she sat at the window and waited. I remember her nuzzling comfort in an effort to shoulder some grief in times of sorrow. I remembered her baths in the kitchen sink, her snooping through Christmas gifts, her theft of Santa’s cookies, her tolerance of young Dover, her fear of Fireworks, her favorite place over the air conditioning vent, her sentry post on the stairs and her love…no, lust for grilled salmon.
As Lexi continued her pace around the garage I thought about how our home was the bulk of her world. And as I thought of her and her life here in our home, I caught myself in wonder of how much our house really knows. I surmised that our house probably knows a great deal about everyone in our family but especially the dogs who never leave. I wondered how many hours our house stood silently by and watched Lexi peering out of its windows anxiously awaiting the return of her family. How many days did our house comfort and shelter her from the cold of winter or the heat of summer or the dampness of drizzle. And how many times did our house witness her silent despair as her family piled into the car and drove away for an hour or a day or a weekend. And then it would witness her patiently awaiting our eventual return only to then offer unto us her unconditional loyalty and affection. Yes, our house knows a great deal about the life of our Lexi. …And when I returned to the present I found Lexi sitting patiently at my feet and waiting for me to scoop her up and carry her into the house. What a gift these precious memories have become. I’ll carry them in my heart forever.It’s so tragic to witness the decline of a pet so dear to your heart. She raised our three daughters and offered us all her unwavering obedience and steadfast companionship. And now our beloved Lexi will bide her time beneath the shade of a sturdy oak deep within our mortal hearts and leaping through our conscious dreams. And she’ll watch over our Dover who'll give chase in the grass and dance in the sun. And I trust that they are both at peace and that they are happily waiting there ever so loyal and patiently for me. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Ben Hur Lampman (1886-1954) was a longtime editor at The Oregonian in Portland, Oregon, and he served as Poet Laureate of Oregon from 1951 until his death. The following was written by Ben Hur Lampman and originally appeared in The Oregonian on September 11, 1925.
“A subscriber of the Ontario (Oregon) Argus has written to the editor of that fine weekly, propounding a certain question, which, so far as we know, remains unanswered: "Where shall I bury my dog?" It is asked in advance of death. The Oregonian trusts the Argus will not be offended if this newspaper undertakes an answer, for surely such a question merits a reply. It distresses (the writer) to think of his favorite as dishonored in death, mere carrion to the winter rains. Within that sloping, canine skull, he must reflect when the dog is dead, were thoughts that dignified the dog and honored the master. The hand of the master and of the friend stroked often in affection this rough, pathetic husk that was a dog.
We would say to the Ontario man that there are various places in which a dog may be buried. We are thinking now of a setter, whose coat was flame in the sunshine, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This setter is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorous bone, or lifted his head to challenge some intruder. These are good places in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else. For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked, and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture lane where most exhilarating cattle graze, it is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, nothing is lost, if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.
If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call - come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death and down the well remembered path and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they shall not growl at him, or resent his coming, for he is yours and belongs there. People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing. The one best place to bury a good dog is the heart of his master.”
-Ben Hur Lampman, September 25, 1925.
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