The light had not caught up with the robin's song this bracing early April day when my best friend of 16 years slipped over to the other side to be with some of the better bipeds of his wide acquaintance, several middling cats and a sure menagerie of nature's phenomenal creatures, none more loved than His Highness of long and short stature.
Never a true dog person, as loyal readers of this blog and companion fan club letter no doubt have gathered, I tried the best I could. Even though the loyalty was reciprocal, I could not duplicate the concentrated, steadfast devotion poured on me by the Blog Star, particularly in his younger days before stardom, and the pressures which inevitably follow, competed with his instinct to put the interests of the pack ahead of all others. Though I was the lone stand-in for numerous bipedal members much of the time , no giver of rides in the car or taker for walks in the woods was ever consigned second rate status by the Leader of the Pack, whose name will forever be etched on our aching hearts.
To say he was smart - well, that would be a bit gauche. He could differentiate between the popular songs, "Happy Birthday to You," which was like a 10 alarm fire bell to him, and "Happy Trails to You," which rated barely a mention. One evening while viewing a rerun of "The Waltons," an excellent family program, Erin, I believe it was, had a birthday. All the Waltons, John-Boy, Grandpa, Elizabeth and the rest, began to sing the familiar tune, and a certain tricolor Pembroke Welsh Corgi jumped off the couch and ran straight to the offending television to remonstrate. He never wavered in his likes and dislikes. That is the sign of a true conservative.
Some say he had a remarkable vocabulary. One cringes waiting for the patronizing qualifier, "for a dog," but he learned to make it work for him, like Festus' limp or Long John Silver's eye patch. Recalling his communication skills today, a close family member recalled the words 'b-e-a-c-h' spelled out, and 'squirrel.' 'Fly' was another buzz word, you should pardon the pun. 'Ride,' 'car,' and 'walk' were especially meaningful, as well.
Remember that for much of his blogging career, he led a dual life: one, an aging, but important canine; the other, a legend. A friend stated today upon hearing the sad news, "He was one of the best bloggers I've ever read, even for a Republican. " Clearly, his appeal was universal.
It will no longer be necessary to save a piece of my cinnamon and sugar donut or a portion of dinner. Habits acquired over so many years are hard to break. Will I ever be able to pass the grocery store treat shelf or a Pizza Hut without hesitating, if just for a moment, before I remember that my true pal is probably supping on filet mignon with Lassie in the Great Beyond?
We have decided that cremation would be his choice as a Buddhist. All is illusion, except the colors of M&M's. The beach will be his final resting spot, to use a worn out c cliché. Already my standards are slipping.
When he was a mere pup he used to get me up in the morning by jumping on the bed and licking my face. When I'd go away for a stretch, he wouldn't eat, even allowing the cats to have his food. Upon my return he'd poke his nose in my bag or suitcase, sure to pull out a shoe, a sock or underwear, along with the leftover chocolate cake or Steak Pommes Frites, my being a liberal and all into French food. His limited dog school training vanished completely, jumping and racing around and barking for joy.
So, to Arthur, handsome dude, best boy and excellent dog, you will be with me always in my heart. Til we meet again. --The Boss--
Fluff and Akamaru send their love and condolences. Even a cat can cry if pushed.
Akamaru, on the other hand, doesn't like this news at all. She will sit at my feet and look sad.
Arthur will live on here in the internet. We will never erase his great works here. He is now one with Shakespeare and Mailer. Oops. Not Mailer. He might bite Mailer.
Well, Shelley, then.
Fare thee well, brave hearted dog! May all the sunrises remember thee!
Posted by: Elaine Meinel Supkis | April 02, 2008 at 10:28 PM
"The untold want, by life and land ne'er granted, now voyager, sail thou forth to seek and find."
The blogsphere will be a little dimmer now minus its guiding star.
Charlie
Posted by: Daliwood | April 04, 2008 at 12:08 PM
Of course, Charlie would choose an American poet. Only fitting for the son of Sycamore, Illinois, which is just down the road from Dixon, home of Ronald Wilson Reagan.
And Elaine would recall his Celtic heritage. Those heroic and dauntless Celts ...
Posted by: Julie Weiss | April 04, 2008 at 11:22 PM