The bear facts

I have my daughter’s birthday gift ready to mail. She’s going to be twenty-eight soon and I’m sending her a teddy bear; there’s a story behind that.

When she was born, I bought her a cuddly bear, almost as big as she was, and she slept with it every night. When her first birthday came around, the natal bear was a bit tattered, so I bought her a replacement, and upon her second birthday another. By birthday three, she was talking and made it clear what she expected (she is and always has been a most insistent girl).

Over the years, it’s turned into a tradition. The one year I tried to send her enough extra birthday money to buy a bear, she told me in no uncertain terms what she thought of that idea.

So, every December she gets a teddy bear; some years, she gets more than one. I try to add a touch of whimsy, too.

When she was twenty, I sent Bat Bear and Robear, the Bruin Wonder, in full costume, of course; three years ago, I sent four bears wearing identical bowties. They were the BearBearshop Quartet, and arrived with an autographed fan photo and a CD of their latest hits.

Anyway, that’s the bears’ tale. I hope you have a happy birthday, Baby, and that your life is filled with ursine reveries and bruinish accord.

Introducing Lilly

My grandson, Dylan, has a new dog. In e-mail yesterday, my son said:

Wanted to share these photos of our new dog, Lilly.

With Schatzie gone, we've tried to get back to normal as soon as possible and after a couple of days decided to start searching for a new family companion.

We found Lilly on a website and picked her up today just before lunch. Dylan is so excited, he can barely contain himself.

Life goes on; which is, after all, as it should be.

A Bojangles day

He danced for those at minstrel shows and county fairs
throughout the south
He spoke through tears of 15 years how his dog and him
traveled about
The dog up and died, he up and died
And after 20 years he still grieves

-- Mr. Bojangles by Jerry Jeff Walker

My son called last night from Ohio. There were tears hiding at the edges of his voice, but they stayed there; he doesn't like for me to hear him cry.

"I had to put Schatzie to sleep," he said. "The vet said she was just old, that there wasn't any more he could do for her."

In our family, "put to sleep" is a euphemism for euthanasia. Schatzie was a German Shepard that has been an important part of my son's life since high school. He was thirty this year.

And then, this morning, my daughter called to talk about it. She said her brother took it hard, but she was more concerned about my grandson, Dylan, who is nine and has never known a moment when Schatzie wasn't there. It is the first time he has had to deal with the death of a loved one.

I know there are people who will say, "It was just a dog." But I come from a family of dog lovers; I can't remember a time, growing up (and then growing older), when there wasn't a dog lolling around the house somewhere and they have always been as much a part of the family as anyone else.

As we grow older, we become, if not used to the idea, at least inured to the thought of the loss of a pet. My mother used to say that folks get hard-hearted; maybe so, until we have to witness such a loss through the eyes of a child.

So I cried this morning, and said a prayer for Dylan, may he never grow so hard-hearted that a death like this means nothing to him. And I prayed for Schatzie, too. She was a boon companion; may she rest in peace.