Elegy for a four-legged friend

November 20th 2022—On a gloomy Sunday in New England, Fallon burst through gray skies in a streak of brilliant, bright, white light leaving behind a bouquet of wildflowers in her place.

Fallon hated the water, but loved to roll in the stinkiest of spoils the ocean tide offered her. She had a wicked nose that knew every trail before she ever set paw on it and loved hiking mountains from within the deep wildernesses of Montana to rocky paths that offered glorious views off the coast of Maine.

Fallon was small in stature, but brave of heart. She took after deer through the thicket in the woods and kept her mother's garden free of rabbits. She was often stubborn, but gave her love easily, especially when bribed by treat or belly rub.

Fallon leaves behind her human mother who will survive her loss, though sob uncontrollably and think of her every time Eddie Vedder sings “Just Breathe”; a father who embraced her hot, sour-mouthed kisses in spite of her horrid breath; and a tiny sticky handed creature whom she tolerated as a gesture of goodwill as it would often throw food to her from its high chair; as well as many friends, both four-legged and two, and one who had three.

Fallon now exists in a sacred space where she naps in sun spots which she shares with her best friend on earth and in eternity, Ferdinand the pit bull, with his slobbery mouth forever leaving a pool of drool on her back where he happily rests his head and she groans, both delighted and disgusted by her dearest companion.

When you spot a shooting star, know that it’s Fallon flashing you her signature puppy-cat grin as she chases deer through midnight skies.