Blaze

I’ve written a lot of columns for this newsletter over the years, but this one will be the most difficult one for me to write, hands down.

I’ve started and stopped it, penned a paragraph or two then crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the trash, only to start again with the same result. I’ve done this probably a dozen times now.

I’m actually writing this after deadline, forcing myself to punch the keys.

I’m hoping this version will somehow arrange the words in such a way that is fitting for the circumstance — who knows though.

You see, Tuesday morning I had to say goodbye to one of my little fur babies, to a piece of my heart, to my beautiful little girl, Blaze.

She battled bravely against cancer and against Father Time, but earlier this week, she let me know it was time to give up this fight and move on to the next adventure, one beyond the clouds and the stars where rainbows end and what is broken is made whole again. A place where the sun always shines and there are endless squirrels to chase, furry friends to play with, peaceful naps to take and treats to eat.

Blaze is a beautiful soul, strong-willed and feisty yet she was so sweet and gentle. She never passed up a good meal (and, I must add, was never shy about letting you know she was ready for one of those meals, either). She was curious and courageous and loved a brisk walk around the neighborhood with her brother, Barker, strutting about town confidently, letting the world know who the queen was in this town.

She always found a way to make me laugh or smile when I needed it most, and I can’t remember a single night (up until the last month or so, when she preferred to sleep alone in her dog bed and not with me and the rest of the pack) she wasn’t burrowed beneath the covers, pressed up beside me in the big bed, fast asleep until dawn.

Blaze was also my sorting partner, along with her brother, Barker. After hockey card breaks I would do on Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday nights on the old Cardshop Live app, they both would curl up beside me as I sorted and packaged the cards deep into the early morning hours. No matter what, she and Barker never left that room until the last shipping label was attached to the last package to send out the next day.

She came to me with Barker, nearly 10 years ago now, when my dachshund rescue discovered them on a Facebook post with the title: “looking for a new home”. She was 9 and Barker 8, at the time, and I knew as soon as I saw the two of them that the three of us were going to stick together until the very end.

And that’s exactly what we did — right until the very end.

With Barker at her side, Blaze took her last breath in my arms Tuesday morning, and truthfully, I’ve had a hard time stopping the tears.

But I’ve also found so many smiles and laughter through those tears, though — so many beautiful memories of Blaze interrupt the grief and the sadness, and I know these are the thoughts I will carry with me through the rest of my days whenever I think about her.

But I will miss everything about her, everyday. And life — and sorting cards — well, that will never be the same. There will always be something missing, and my world will never be quite as bright as it was when she was in it.

And although I know I can’t convey how much Blaze meant to me in a single column for this newsletter — but I tried my best. I do hope though, that enough of my love for her came through in these words that it prompts you to give your dog or your cat a hug, and really appreciate the blessing they are in your life.

If that’s the case, then this little article, as hard as it was to write, was worth it all.