It’s been a long six years since I last wrote on my blog, I have been keeping it alive all this time without much thought to picking it up again. I’m still not sure that I will – my writing skills are very rusty and I already spend WAY too much time on a computer for work. But today I felt the urge to share a postscript, or maybe a goodbye, or maybe a hello. Being a gardener, and living in a climate with distinct seasons, I tend to think of loss and change in terms of cycles. I’ve lived long enough to have experienced many and somehow they always seem to turn into new and different gardens.
I said goodbye to Turbo a few months ago, my best guess is that she was about 18 years old. I adopted her from a rescue a few months after Jake (my 16-year old Border Collie) died, when it was probably too soon to get another dog. Jake was extraordinary and an impossible act for any dog to follow, let alone a feral, independent, utterly adorable street dog who turned out to have a lifelong oppositional disorder and an unquenchable urge to wander and hunt. She certainly rolled all over any self-concept I had of being a good dog trainer – the best we ever managed was a truce that involved a lot treats, more patience than I knew I had, and a sense of humour. We adored each other.
Turbo was very old at the end but still spirited and mentally sharp. She had some serious ailments, including kidney disease, a torn ligament from jumping off the bed, some kind of mass behind her heart, as well as the usual old dog complaints of arthritis pain, lumps, total deafness, and near-blindness from cataracts. Her mobility was gone but the nose still worked and as long as there were treats and cuddles to be had, that tail wagged and that happy face smiled. In the last few months of her life – and in spite of a broken arm from a fall this past May – I carried her up and down the stairs. I remind myself of that whenever I start to feel guilty (as all devoted pet owners do).
I felt the urge to write because I visited a very special place today where I recently arranged for a plaque in Turbo’s memory. Just after she died I took a long, grief-stricken, and aimless drive into the countryside and stumbled on – quite by accident – Beautiful Joe Park in Meaford, Ontario. I vaguely knew the story of Beautiful Joe, written in the late 1890’s about a horribly abused dog that was rescued and lived happily ever after with a loving family. The book became an international best seller and at the time it was – along with the book Black Beauty – credited with helping to change Victorian attitudes about animal welfare. The story was set for some unknown reason in Maine in the USA, but this park was actually Beautiful Joe’s backyard, and he is buried here.
The park has a vibe about it that is full of love. It’s quiet and forested, a river runs beside it, and as you walk through you come across one moving memorial after another.
When I first visited I expected some kind of memorial for Beautiful Joe, after all that’s the name of the park. I had no idea what else the park had to offer, so as I followed the path and came across one beautiful monument after another I was extremely touched. Then – at the end of the trail as I was walking back to my car – I came across the pet memorial. Believe me I stood and wept as I read the plaques. It was the perfect place for Turbo.
I think this inscription is my favourite, besides Turbo’s of course:
If you would like to remember your canine friend this way, contact the Beautiful Joe Society; they are a registered charity, completely volunteer-run and very kind. The fee for the plaque helps with the upkeep of the park but they are also fundraising to make the park more accessible.
POLLENATRIX 