Several weeks ago, the longtime (13 years, I believe) family dog, Aspen, died. It's been kinda strange; no one has seemed particularly upset about it, not me, not even the other dog, Miko. We'd been expecting it for some time now. But I think a short note about her life is appropriate.
Aspen was a kind-hearted runaway. She was chosen from the animal shelter because she was the only one not barking at the time (how soon that changed!). At the time, she was two, and though she sometimes tried to escape, she always made it back somehow. She loved to chase the squirrel, and one time almost caught the bunny. She never understood fetch, but she loved tug of war, and chewing on bones. She had a stout heart and was an optimist, even at the end. How do we know? Her spirit was always strong, even when she must have been in terrible pain. At the end she had warts, cataracts, a limp and probably cancer. But she was always cheerful. She died on the way to the vetrinarian following a stroke several days prior. She was 16.
"The true criterion of the practical, therefore, is not whether the latter can keep intact the wrong or foolish; rather is it whether the scheme has vitality enough to leave the stagnant waters of the old, and build, as well as sustain, new life." -- Emma Goldman
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