True Love Never Dies

There's a great family movie called "Secondhand Lions".  It's fun and I like it a lot.  There's one scene where one of the heroes, Hub gives a "coming of age" talk to his young great-nephew Walter which goes like this:

 "Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good; that honor, courage, and virtue mean everything; that power and money, money and power mean nothing; that good always triumphs over evil; and I want you to remember this, that love... true love never dies. You remember that, boy. You remember that. Doesn't matter if it's true or not. You see, a man should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in".

All of the dogs below have passed on now. Some of them actually have been gone for many years but there's not a day that goes by that I don't think of them.  Every single one of them was a treasure whom I loved dearly.  They say "grief is the price we pay for love".

In our culture we're so often taught to feel embarrassed about or ashamed of our emotions, even of love. 

That very wise American man Jim Rohn used to say, "Let life touch you".  In other words - let yourself feel.

Kahlil Gibran, who is my one of my favourite writers, wrote about Joy and Sorrow.
 

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Below : Left to right, Cheyenne, Quinten, Brandon, Carla

Below :  Victoria Rose

Below : Hamish

Below : Victoria Rose

Below : Conan as a puppy

Below: Jason

"And some day the loved and the loving 

shall meet on the mountains again"

Collies

From the first time I saw "Lassie" on the television when I was a young girl I was smitten.  There were a few Collies in our area and I was always excited when we drove past the places that they lived.  Another "Lassie" lived near the sea around four miles away and she would often be lying on the front lawn of the farmhouse where she lived.  What a beautiful sight she was I used to think as I tried to keep her in view as long as possible when we drove past.  Another Collie belonged to the local blacksmith in Leeston and she would wander up and down the footpath on the main street at will but mostly she lay outside the blacksmith's shop until she went home after work with her owner.  I dreamed of the day I would own one of these magnificent dogs myself.

Finally, in 1976 when I was seventeen years old, I got my first Collie, Martell.  Not long afterwards I bought my first Collie puppy Charn when he was just a baby.  I've had Collies ever since.  This gorgeous breed has been everything I dreamed of and more - beautiful, loyal, loving, intelligent, sensible and humourous.  Every single one of them has a very special place in my heart.  They have been some of my finest companions on this journey through life, given much and wanted so little, loved faithfully and unfailingly.  Oh if only I could attain such virtue as they!

Below : Cheyenne and Carla,

also known as Kewmarnic Rise N Shine and Ch Kewmarnic Gentle Touch.

Below, Cheyenne, Kewmarnic Rise N Shine

by Kewmarnic Highwayman ex Northbrook She's A Sheila

  

Below: Mum and Matthew, Dawnbrae Lawmaker

 

Below (Left to Right) : Dad, Vicky, Mindy and Matthew

on the Kaikoura Rocks in the late 1980's.

 Below " Lassie, Kewmarnic My Lady Fair (ADX - Agility Dog Excellence)

 

Below : Ch Vicky, Ch Dawnbrae Victoria Rose

Below : Mickey, Ch Kewmarnic Highland Gold

Conan, Kewmarnic Desperado

Below: Bridie, Jaymac Desert Rose at Kewmarnic 

Dad with the Collies and pups in the early 1980's

Below : Aged 9 months, Quentin, Kewmarnic Excalibur 

 

Below : James and Stacey at the lagoon.

Below : Abbey and Stacey In A Tug Of War

Below : Charn and Abbey cool their heels in a creek near the Rakaia River

Below : Simon, Ch Lochburn D'ble Thriller

Below :  Lucy, Ch Burnfield Susie Quadra

 

 

Below : Charn and Martell 1980

Below : Charn and Dad, 1979

Below : Brandon, Zhavera's Exemplary

 

 Below : Zara, Kewmarnic Bedazzled

Below : Martell the Collie, Switch the black cat and me - late 1970's.

Below : Mickey, Ch Kewmarnic Highland Gold

Below : Matthew and Daniel having a game at home, 1980's. 

Below : Matthew larking about with Dad in the 1980's.

Below : Martell and Charn, 1980 at Cooper's Lagoon

Below : Carla, NZ Champion Kewmarnic Gentle Touch

 

Below : Martell and me, 1977

 

Below : Mickey, Tessa, Matthew and Dad, early 1980's

  

Below : Chelsea, Enfelde Shot Silk At Kewmarnic

Below : Stacey, Jaymlyn Night Tango

 

Where To Bury A Dog

There are various places within which a dog may be buried. We are thinking now of a setter, whose coat was flame in the sunshine, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This setter is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub of the garden, is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorous bone, or lifted head to challenge some strange intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else.

For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost -- if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog.

One place that is best of all.  If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there.

People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.

The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master.

by Ben Hur Lampman