We all think our own dog is the most beautiful. I know that mine is. It's all in the definition of the word beautiful. The most thoughtful description of beautiful that I've read was from Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit. The Rabbit asked the Skin Horse, "What is REAL? Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick out handle?" to which the old Skin Horse answered, "REAL isn't how you are made, it's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become REAL. It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. Generally, by the time you are REAL, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are REAL you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." REAL and beautiful are one and the same.
My Maggie is REALLY Beautiful. She becomes more so each day that passes, with each new gray hair on her lovely face, with the slight sag in her spine and the limp that has shown up. It's the dignity with which, each morning, she quietly waits on the edge of the bed for me to lift her down; because first thing in the morning it's a long way down. It's the patience she shows the younger dog in the household and the tolerance for the fosters. It's the joy she finds in sleeping on my pillow, breakfast sausage, baby cones at the Dairy Freeze, rides in the car and her toys. It's the delighted 'Maggie spin' when she gets 'to go' anywhere, as long as it's somewhere. It's the thoughtful lick across my cheek for no apparent reason. It's the peace that seeps into my soul when I lay my hand on her while she's in that deep, senior sleep where she is young again in her mind. It's the void she filled in my heart four years ago when I lost two dogs in as many months. It's my amazement that I almost didn't meet an eight year old dog named Maggie four years ago because I couldn't see past my own grief.
Maggie is the most beautiful dog in the world and she is mine and I am hers. There is nothing that will dull her continual metamorphous into more beautiful. She will always burst with her beauty. I hope that your dog is beautiful too, in all the ways that matter
(Thank you, Gwen and MWBTR, for Maggie. She is gone now at 17, but my heart is full. 2010)
-Patty Hascall
We all think our own dog is the most beautiful. I know that mine is. It's all in the definition of the word beautiful. The most thoughtful description of beautiful that I've read was from Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit. The Rabbit asked the Skin Horse, "What is REAL? Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick out handle?" to which the old Skin Horse answered, "REAL isn't how you are made, it's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become REAL. It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. Generally, by the time you are REAL, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are REAL you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." REAL and beautiful are one and the same.
Thank you so much for sharing this beautiful story. I am sitting om the sofa crying my eyes out!
ReplyDeleteOur beloved Boston, Chopper, died from a grand mal seizure in 2010. We miss him sooo much every day.
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