We did not choose you, Cy.
About a year after losing our beloved Mr. Bingley (“Bubba”), we cautiously contacted MAGRR about adopting a new friend someday. “It might be a few weeks before you hear back from us,” said the nice woman who let us know that we were approved to once again be MAGRR parents. So, naturally, less than a week later, we did hear back.
“We have a dog who needs to be fostered immediately. Can you help? You’d have no obligation to adopt him, of course.”
Of course, we said yes. And, of course, we knew we wanted to keep you, even before we met you. And you came home with us.
In hindsight, we’re amazed at how skinny you were then. You very quickly became un-skinny; your mom and I like round babies, apparently. And you constantly amazed us with your great height and length, allowing you to find food on counters and in cabinets we had no idea you could reach. And you weren’t one for exercise, though you were the best leash dog we’ve ever known–even strangers commented on your ability to stop and turn on a dime. I took credit, of course (kidding).
You loved your squeaky toys (your “woobies”), but no love matched the one you had for your “lemon,” the little yellow rubber doohickey I used to vacuum-seal the rubber boot I wore over my cast in the shower years before. Your mom and I still have no idea what attraction that lemon held for you, but it was your favorite toy and the one you used to teach me to play keepaway with you. Keepaway will now always be known as “lemon game” in our house.
You disliked storms and really hated fireworks and probably questioned our country’s decision to declare independence way back when. But you loved being brushed. You loved your spots on the living room and den sofas. And you loved us. And we loved you.
For an older dog, you had remarkable health for the three years you lived with us, until that last month. Your illness challenged us in ways we didn’t always know how to handle, but please know that we always wanted to do what we thought was best and right for you. We miss you terribly, Mr. Man.
We did not choose you, Cy–but I thank God that you were chosen for us.
The Twombly Family
So do not grieve for me, my friend, as I am with my kind…
My collar is a rainbow’s hue
My leash is a shooting star
My boundaries are the Milky Way
Where I sparkle from afar.
There are no pens or kennels here
For I am not confined
But free to roam God’s heavens
Among my special kind.
I nap the day on a snowy cloud
With gentle breezes rocking me
I dream the dreams of earthlings
And how it used to be.
The trees are full of liver treats
And tennis balls abound
And milk bones line the walking ways
Just waiting to be found
There is even a ring set up
The grass all lush and green.
And everyone who gaits around
Becomes the “Best of Breed.”
For we’re all winners in this place
We have no faults you see.
And God passes out the ribbons
To each one—even me.
At night I sleep in angels’ arms
Their wings protecting me
And moon beams dance about us
As stardust falls on thee.
So when your life on earth is spent
And you reach heaven’s gate
Have no fear of loneliness
For here, you know I wait.