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 In Memory of  In Memory of Lola

February 7, 2019

Dear Shirley,

Our dear Lola is no longer with us.

Last night, at the ripe old dog-equivalent age of 126, Lola had what appeared to be a stroke; this morning she was alert, but unable to stand or move her legs. After consults with dog-loving friends and our vet, we called the canine equivalent of a hospice nurse, a wonderful vet named Betsy. She confirmed the situation, and helped us say goodbye as she eased Lola first into comfort, and then into permanent slumber.

Lola was a perfect companion from the day we adopted her through you, growing and exploring with all her human family. 

So we celebrate our years with her steady, loving presence, and all the joy she brought to us, to friends, and to neighbors. 

We miss her very much.

Alas, because my husband Steve was diagnosed last spring with a brain tumor, we are not in a position to fill the void with a new furbaby. 

If the right time ever comes, we'll be back at your door.

Thanks so much for enabling us to experience all the joy Lola brought us over the years.

Poems from Steve Cadwell's book “Hope SPrings INternal” available on Amazon.


Owed to our Dog:  Lola

aka: "Lola Lita Lolabridgedetta".


What degree of pet-degree is she?

Perfect in every way.

“Girl with the Curl,” we like to say.


Her fur: the best in black and white:

Holstein, bitch in birch, day and night.

Patch-eyed with lashes to match.

Snow-white mane--polar patch.

Saddle black on white back.

Speckled legs with white feather withers,

(totally tutu on toe toe),

From black spot rump, white plume tail

pomp proud as The Major General: “Hail!

Forward Trot!” into the day:

mix of rest, romp and eager play.

She shows us all the way.



at play's end,

she curls 

her angora swirls

into dreams of chasing squirrels.




Out for our Fall morning walk, it's a sad day when the old dog turns back to go lay on the porch.

 It’s a happier day when she sees you across the meadow and comes bounding out to join you for the walk on the trail that winds down through the fields, then along the river with views to the mountains all way round.

 She trots along --once again the companion she’s been for 16 years.  Good girl, Lola.

Months later, its clear she’s failing.  She’s an old girl; 130 by some counts.


A week ago we took our last long walk together through the wetlands across meadows to Promontory Rock.

Night before last, she had a stroke and never got up.

She had a mercifully short sweet death at home with us by her side.


Today I take my first solo walk. 

Her absence makes my heart grow more grief.

There will be lots of practice solos ahead.

Can I bring her along with me in my mind’s eye?
In my heart?  Still my constant companion:

her beauty and avid engagement amplifying the scene?


We’ll see. My heart is willing. I suspect grief will insist on bringing her along.  Maybe that’s a good thing.

Our attachment trots along.        2/8/19



Transition House;

Home on the Change: Dog Gone it!


In a time, not so long ago: only Yesterday,

we lived in a house we built of Glad.

We lived with a boy of rumpus and joy

and a dog so pretty and sweet.


For a long time, we lived 

in a house of Joy and Rumpus and Glad,

Then the boy grew up and left.

Then the dog died, left us bereft.

For a while, we live in a House of Sad.


This sad won’t last long

because we remember

we built this house of Love

for the boy and the dog and each other

and the others who enter in.

This is more than a house --

It's our Loving Home

for the two of us

and all who enter to fuss with us.

HOOOOhm is where The Heart is

and where the Love Life Start is

which grows on and on.


OOOHM  OOOHM on the Change

Where we’re dear,

and we can elope to play.

Always are heard

encouraging words.

And the sky can be cloudy--

come what may.


We are still happy Loving HOOhm Practitioners.


Gratitude for our Home Sweet OOOHM Life

full of wild dreams and precious locks of love.

Want to come ooohm with me?  

Strays welcome here.


         Love to Lola (2000 to 2-7-19)

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