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Stuart Revercomb

Stuart Revercomb is a marketing consultant and joyously married father of four children. He seems to remember someone once telling him he ought to be a writer. "The Unseen Here and Now" -- Thursdays.

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July 26, 2001

Goodbye Sweet Abbey

I had a pretty good column lined up for today. It was a happy affair, involving an extraordinary day in the life of my son George, which happened to occur on his 8th birthday. It is positive and upbeat and full of joy because that's what that day was all about. But it will have to wait until next week, because today our home is in mourning. We have lost our beloved dog Abbey.

Abbey was an SPCA special - a true "American". An amalgamation of God only knows how many dogs, but primarily shepherd and collie with maybe a hint of malamute - more commonly known amongst mix breed dog lovers as a "black and tan".

We called her "The Ab-Dog". And she was something very special.

My wife and I acquired Ab-Dog long before we acquired the 4 children. She was our first born, and being such became the dog we "practiced on". If you can't raise a dog half decent, we decided, then maybe we would forgo having children altogether. But the Ab Dog turned out O.K. and we went on from there. And so did Abbey. Over the last 10 years she has helped us in no short measure raise and rear our children. Not so much in any "heroic" way, as just being there for them and us, day in and day out to play and to greet and to comfort and to love.

Although I suppose it is inevitable, I can not imagine our memories of her ever fading - the way she sometimes slept on her back with all four paws pointing up and bent at the wrists as though she were jumping a hedge row but upside down - training the children to walk, by letting them hold on to her back and then leading them to the cabinet where the dog treats were - greeting us everyday in the driveway as though we had been gone for 6 months - letting out a soft moan from the foot of our bed when the night was cold.....

A dog like Abbey that becomes part of your family is a part of the everyday of your life - a part of you, really, and the relationships you have with those you love most. For those who have lost such animal loved ones, you know what I am talking about. For those that haven't, I don't imagine there are words that can describe it.

Suffice to say that such animals have it within their beautiful souls to love almost completely unconditionally. Something the vast majority of the rest of us have a pretty hard time doing. The gift of their life is in the giving of themselves, wherever and whenever needed, and without thought or hesitation. They simply love. And they give their love simply.

Call me blasphemous if you want to, and they are only animals I know, but it is a heart like Christ they possess.

We buried Abbey yesterday in our back yard, up in back of the pines under which she used to lay so often. We did so as a family with the exception of 2 year old Rob, whom we knew wouldn't grasp what we were doing. We read the 24th Psalm because it speaks of the fullness of the earth and all who dwell in it. And then the 23rd Psalm, because we needed the comfort. After a prayer of thanks for the gift of her life, we gently placed her in the grave with her tags and a tennis ball. The children each added a "milk bone", and then we said goodbye.

The night passed slowly, and the morning sun did not bring with it quite the relief or "progress" my wife and I had hoped for. The children were thankfully much better, however, and were generally able to hit the ground running, as the promise of a new day and an endless summer lay like a mirage before them.

But the morning was not without it's own whispers for us.

Shortly after everyone took off for swim practice I ventured into our upper yard to retrieve a sprinkler and check the spot where we buried her. I noticed that I had left the Bible we used in our small service yesterday on the fence that runs along the back of our property. The morning was bright and glorious - the slanting rays of the sun penetrating through the branches of a mulberry tree to the hallowed ground below. The singing of the birds seemed especially vibrant.

I flipped the Bible openly randomly. It fell to Psalm 148.

Praise the LORD from the heavens, praise him in the heights above.
2 Praise him, all his angels, praise him, all his heavenly hosts.
3 Praise him, sun and moon, praise him, all you shining stars.
4 Praise him, you highest heavens and you waters above the skies.
5 Let them praise the name of the LORD, for he commanded and they were created.
6 He set them in place for ever and ever; he gave a decree that will never pass away.
7 Praise the LORD from the earth, you great sea creatures and all ocean depths,
8 lightning and hail, snow and clouds, stormy winds that do his bidding,
9 you mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars,
10 wild animals and all cattle, small creatures and flying birds,
11 kings of the earth and all nations, you princes and all rulers on earth,
12 young men and maidens, old men and children.
13 Let them praise the name of the LORD, for his name alone is exalted; his splendor is above the earth and the heavens.
14 He has raised up for his people a horn, the praise of all his saints, of Israel, the people close to his heart. Praise the LORD.

"Let THEM praise the name of the Lord", the Psalmist writes.

Let them indeed - including sweet Abbey.