Last night I got a package that turned out to be a late, or if you follow the Julian calendar, an early Christmas present.
The Terrenoire family is not a slave to any calendar.
This came from The Nephew and his wife. I read a few pages and it is, for anyone who has owned an old dog, heartbreakingly beautiful. The writing is good, often funny, always touching and the photography brings out the dignity of grayed muzzles and shaky hips.
In his profile, the writer Gene Weingarten, "... instructed his family that he wishes to be buried in Washington's Congressional Cemetery, because it allows dogs to run free. He wants his tombstone to include only his birth and death dates, and this: 'A funny man who loved dogs.' The stone will be carved in the shape of a fire hydrant."
That's my kind of guy.
The photographer is Michael S. Williamson.
If you love dogs as much as I do, pick up a copy of this book at your local independent. It's terrific.
Thank you, Nephew, this was a great choice.
Once again, here is a picture of our old departed friend, Boomer. We miss you, buddy.
2 comments:
Looks good, brother. Last year after my mother-in-law passed, we took possession of her 17 year old dog, Wookie. He was half blind, deaf and could barely walk ... but every night when we returned from work, his tail wagged 100 mph and lit up our lives. Unfortunately, his liver gave out a few months back and Ann Marie held him in her lap while they put Wookie to sleep ... heartbreaking just to type this.
Our pup (a fierce bichon), Rigoletto, gets 2 insulin shots a day and nearly died a few years back when he went into insulin shock ... he cost us (that time) just about all of my first (and last) screenplay advance and I'd mortgage the house if I had to do it again. Rigoletto is about 8 adult years now and starting to show his years ... but we can't imagine not having him.
Dogs, my brother ... well, they just rule.
When the ex and I lost Toonces (born about a year before we married and died a month before we packed it in as a couple), I think I bawled my eyes out everyday coming home from work for a week.
The current Missus and I have this mutt that has St. Bernard, collie, and some kind of terrier in her. Her name is Gurl, and she accepted me into the family before Nita or I even knew we'd be a family.
Gurl's our baby. She was an abused dog when our nephew owned her, and Chris, who'd make a great character in one of our stories, trained her to behave and treated her like... Well, like he loved his dog.
Gurl's now lazy, spoiled, and behaves a lot like a cat. We love her to bits, but we know that day is coming when I'm going to have to go to that same place in Montgomery where the former wife and I put Toonces down.
I'm hoping Gurl is old and decrepit when that finally happens, because it's going to take me another decade to get over the last time.
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