At the end of evening on Tuesday, September 18th, my beloved friend, companion and family member, Dakshayini, was put to sleep. In brief, she'd been struggling and worsening as Summer progressed.

I was able to spend one last, golden afternoon with her at our favorite Bertha Brock Park.

Now she is gone. Those of you who knew Daksha, would you please devote a moment of thought to her? Perhaps a fond memory, or just aknowledgement of her abundant energy.

I used to say she couldn't have been more my child than if she'd been born from my body. I was not a perfect parent. Loyal even so, she taught me more than anyone else about Love and patience. We weathered lovers and friends, houses and highways and the decrease of our family. Daksha and I lost our cat, Maggie, two years ago. And now my Daksha girl is gone, too.

I read an account years ago from a man who had just lost his dog. He recounted how his father helped him throught the loss of his first dog, his boyhood pet. His father comforted him in loss and grief and the slow, slow cessation of sorrow. In terms appealing to a little boy who wanted to be more grown up, he told the author he would now be one Dog old. The author states, at the end of his narrative, how more profound than the marking of a decade is the marking of a loved one's death.

Goodnight, my Dakshayini.

Today the sun seems dimmed...
and I am one Dog old.