Gone to the Rainbow Bridge
Dearly loved and deeply missed.


Heidi Anne
July 1986 - May 29, 2001
Blessed with her presence
for 15 years.


Jacob Amos
? - September 1, 2001
Blessed with his presence
for over 3 years.

They say that all good things must end some day
 Autumn leaves must fall
 But don't you know that it hurts me so
 To say goodbye to you
 Wish you didn't have to go
 No no no no

And when the rain
Beats against my window pane
I'll think of summer days again
And dream of you

(From "A Summer Song"-
Metcalfe/Noble/Stuart)

North of The Rainbow Bridge
by MakWa4me

The time comes. A Siberian Husky lifts up its head. There is an untested adventure beyond. Time to go.

Across the Rainbow Bridge is a place for all dogs. A river runs wide and shallow with tennis balls that fly with their own wings; that is the place for a Labrador or Golden to await its master's arrival.

The Siberian is not content here. Northward is its trail...

There are soft pastures for Aussies and Border Collies, with sheep and geese to pen. Agility equipment grows like trees amid Frisbees and fly ball.

But the North continues its sure wild call, and the Siberian's journey continues...

Now the air is colder. Now the moon is always full. Now the light is silver and it breaks and shimmers on fields of bright snow. Now there are no roads, no walls, no pens, just endless space to run. This is where Siberians gather, North of the Rainbow Bridge.

They wait in this beautiful place, happy, but not complete. Suddenly, a howl begins, as one dog senses someone coming, someone very special. All the Siberians raise their heads and join in the ancient chorus. They dance like moonbeams and sing like winter winds.

There are red ones like dawn streaks, black ones splattered with many colors and silver ones like the first strange hour before light. They line up as if in harness and run together, in a scintillating, many-colored streak. The leader of the team guides the others past the fields and river, with racing feet and racing heart. They rush to greet the new arrival at the Rainbow Bridge, where the leader is rejoined with its beloved person, never to be parted again.

The glory of the reunion is celebrated by all the Siberians dwelling beyond the Bridge, a glimmering, multicolored team leaping and whirling with joy. The light from that scene is what we see on magical evenings in the northernmost parts of this Earth: The Aurora Borealis, the Northern Lights beyond the Rainbow Bridge.

Where To Bury A Dog
~Ben Hur Lampman

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 flavorful 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.

 

 

 

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