Gilbert

Gilbert died this morning. He hadn’t bounded up to greet me.  He was yong still in the office.I thought he was breathing.  I waited.  I touched him later. I thought he was just tired.  He was stiff. He wasn’t breathing. Rigor Mortis was setting in. He was still warm. I petted him.  He was present. Now I don’t know. I’ve wrapped him in the Scottish towel. I held him on my lap. I’ve cried. I keep crying. I know it’s for me. I keep thinking he’ll bounce up and cuddle.He liked to lick my neck. I loved his cold wet nose.

We walked last night. In the forest, on the river trail.  The long walk to the green generator.  He sniffed a lot.  I saw the Kingfisher.  I finally got a picture. That was special.  We walked home.  He was happy. He always was a happy dog. 

He had lost his eyes to glaucoma a few years back.  First one then the other 6 months later.  He was lost and devastated till I took him to the beaches of Oregon and he ran. I loved when he ran.

We hunted together when he had his sight. He found the grouse I shot. He raised them too. I loved when he brought back a

The downed grouse, helping me. I’d not taught him to retrieve. He just did it on his own.  Then I shot a deer. He ran so hard chasing the falling deer. He jumped right on the antlered head trying to rise. The weight of my little cockapoo was too much. His head fell back and he died.Twice, Gilbert helped me kill a deer. He once even followed a blood trail. Always he kept me company in the woods and elsewhere. 

He sailed with me. He and Angel, the cat, in the SV Giri.

Mostly he liked to ride in his carrier box on the back of my Harley.Gilbert, the biker dog.  He came  to work with me every day.  He’d greet patients.  

Laura was his mother.

When I brought him home as a mere handful from the States, we kept him in her apartment house training him together the first weeks.  I’d carry him in an over the shoulder baby pouch to work on the motorcycle. He had a helmet and goggles at one time but didn’t like them.  He rode in the side car when I had the Russian motorcycle. In the woods he rode of the back of the quad, or in the side by side Pioneer. He preferred the Ford truck though. He liked his comforts.

He sailed.  Running up and down the deck. Sleeping at the head of my berth in the cabin.  Cuddling beside me on the couch.

He’d ride in the truck in the front seat standing with his head out the window or in the back seat lying on the luggage.

He liked to sleep with his legs stretched out behind him.He was so cute.

He always liked to fetch ball. He loved to play with other dogs too. Never aggressive but he’d stand his ground to defend.

He liked the beef little cesars.  He like little stick chews. He loved the mini milk bone treats and the Princeton Liver Jerky treats and little Edam cheese.  I’d share my barbecued steak with him.

When Angel, the cat, was alive they were best of friends. We all share barbecued Safeway chickens on special nights. Angel thought of herself as his mommy too.When George, the cat, was alive,  he and Gilbert became best of buddies. George was a rescue cat, traumatized, a scaredy cat. Gilbert got him out of himself. Gilbert brought George who was hiding under the couch a ball until one day George joined Gilbert and played with the ball together. Later, They shared the chicken ritual together.  George didn’t sing like Angel did when I played guitar. Gilbert liked my singing and guitar. He liked when I read poetry and prose to him as well. He was really sad when Angel died, then Dad, and the George and George and my brother. Now he’s dead. He died in his sleep. 

“Gilbert’s a good dog!”  I said that over and over again. He is such a good dog.

Now he’s at Rainbow Bridge.

My father loved him and called him “monkey dog’.  Gilbert loved to jump up on Dad’s lap and squirm about licking Dad’s face and ears. The two of them would laugh and play. I know they’re reunited in heaven . My brother loved him too an they’re together.  Gilbert’s  cousins are the two cockapoo girls, Eva and Pepper, with my nephews. They loved to play with Gilbert when he visitted Hay Bay.

I know Gilbert’s  waiting for me at Rainbow Bridge.

I’m so lost, alone and bereft. I don’t know how I’m going to carry on. There’s been so much death and loss in this life.  Yet it’s been a good life.  I don’t know what I’ll do. My life revolved around Gilbert as his revolved around me. He helped me be a better person.  He took me for walks. He reminded me to eat. He reminded me to sleep. We loved the outdoors together.  We loved other people who loved dogs. He was such a good judge of character.  

The Bishop blessed him.

He flew with me in planes. He sat in church with me. He worked with me as my therapy dog in my offices and clinics. He kept my spirits up. I really believe his back injury, blindness and finally his heart disease, the valvular fault and expanding heart and congestive heart failure were all the hits he took for me. Spiritually he was my guardian. Just as in life he was my protector, protecting us from wild animals when we stayed in tents, alerting me to all manner of things, in the wilderness or  when we were in the city in our home.  He was always another set of ears and a presence to contend with. 

 He could be ferocious. He was always so courageous. Mostly, he was just so loving, kind and good hearted. He was such a happy little, good spirited dog.

My cousin Wayne had a cockapoo that sat in the truck with him. I met Wayne’s cockapoo and listened to Wayne sing his dog’s praises. Now that’s what I’m doing. Singing Gilbert’s praises .  Dog of Dogs. A real prince. Gilbert Hay. I named him after Sir Gilbert Hay of the Hay Clan and the Poet, Gilbert Hay.

I don’t know how I’m going to go on without you.Gilbert was ‘such a good boy!’