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In Memory of Dirty Dingus McGee
(aka:  Dingus, Dinny, Dinnykins, Sillyness)

1995 - March 18, 2008

A Place For Us

To my Dinny.  My Sweetness.  My little love.
From my arms you left this world but never from my heart.

I Loved You Best
So this is where we part, My Friend.
And you'll run on around the bend.
Gone from sight but not from mind.
New Pleasures there you'll surely find.
I will go on, I'll find the strength, life measures quality not in it's length.
One long embrace before you leave, share one last look before I grieve.
There are others, that much is true but they be they and they aren't you.
And I, fair, impartial, or so I thought, will remember well all you've taught.
Your place I'll hold, you will be missed.  The fur I stroked, the nose I kissed.
And, as you journey to your final rest, take with you this.....I loved you best.

By Jim Willis

TAKE JOY IN.....OLD DOGS

Their joys are simple.
A soft bed.
A scrap fallen from the table that the younger dogs missed.
The memory of a treed squirrel.
A stormless night.

White whiskered faces and legs crooked as question marks.

Old Dogs, their sweet Bedda bellies hang over crossed legs as they fall asleep in a coveted patch of sun.  Dreaming of out racing their shadows down long, shady lanes.

Once they danced by your side.
The very definition of joy unleashed.
A perfect poem caught in shining eyes and wagging tails.
They have followed you faithfully for years.
And would plunge into fires, untamed wilderness, raging waters if you asked.

Now, they struggle to catch up.  Their pace slow but their hearts still valiant.
Their cloudy eyes are starting to dim and go distant, tuning in to some invisible world.  Just beyond your reach.

Don't go you say, as you scratch the tender part between their ears.
Stay longer.
I can't imagine a world without your fur pressed close to my cheek.
There are still so many roads we haven't explored.

And they look up at you with a wisdom that just slays you.

Their backs are bent, not from the weight of years, but from the invisible wings they are growing that will soon take them to a place where once they are warriors of speed drunk with the sights and scents of a thousand meadows.
Able to leap high enough to touch the wing of the tiniest butterfly.

A place where they will now wait for you to catch up.

Poem by Donna Swajeski

A TRIBUTE TO...OLD DOGS (scroll down)

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