And so it ends...

How do you measure life or love?  As photographers we seek to immortalize not only the moments of a life, but also the meaning of that life.  We steal pieces of time, slices of emotion and the truth of a love.  But we're also people who experience our own joys and sorrows, seperate from those we document.  I don't often delve into our personal life here, but today I am compelled to honour those we have loved...and those we have lost.

A story of family, hope and love, for those who can longer speak themselves:

Fourteen years ago it began with Buddy, a Dalmation, who I rescued at 7 months.  Headstrong and independent, he was full of personality and spirit.  He became my constant companion and then my children’s.  Ultimately succumbing to a brain tumour, he was the first one we lost.  Steve and I were there as the pain and confusion subsided and he was once again at peace.

Barney was a Golden Retriever rescued from a life so horrible is doesn’t even bear comprehending.  Taken in by Steve’s parents, he had been kept in a cage so small, and for so long, that his back legs had withered to nothing and he could barely even stand.  He joined our pack to make it four and lived a life suited for the magnificent animal he was.  His soulful eyes were full of mischief, but he never fully got over the trauma of his early life.  We lost him early, although we never knew exactly what his age was.  He was jolly and fat and loved nothing more than a pig's ear after dinner. 

Shortly after our wedding, we knew we wanted to expand out family and so we headed to our local SPCA.  And there she was:  Bailey.  Beaten so badly in an effort to make her a guard dog, this incredibly gentle Rottie became the focal point of our family - Steve, myself and Buddy.  She and Buddy were fast friends with Bailey sleeping on top of him most nights.  Our Bud Bud put up with her need to be close and gave up a little of his independence to her. 

Bailey was simply the best.  Her tail, all three inches of it, would wag so hard that her entire body would shake, often causing her to walk into walls in her excitement.  This Rottie, this wonderful, gentle Rottie, would let our children jump on her, pull her ears and ride her like a horse.  She put up with so much, tail wagging the entire time.  We lost her third to a fast acting illness.  And again we were there to see her through.

And then there was Boomer.  He outlived them all despite his crazy beginning.  Boo was rescued shortly before our wedding.  Steve’s parents took him in and we thought they may, in fact, be crazy.  Boo Boo (as we called him) was badly hurt by his previous owners who shattered his trust and joy in life.  When they brought him home, he was out of control.  It’s Boo Boo that caused me to write this, Boo Boo who we remember today.

When my in-laws looked into his eyes, they saw something special.  Why else would they have persevered through years of obedience classes, dramatic walks that invariably ended with Jackie on the ground as Boo dragged her in pursuit of another dog.  They knew that if Boo could learn to trust again, he would be the perfect pet. 

To be completely frank, I think they both loved his free spirit and rebellious nature just a bit.  His antics became legendary and every dog park in North Vancouver had been subject to his whims.  

A powerful lab/hound cross, Boo was black as night and a sight to behold.  To burn energy he would swing from a rope in a tree.  He jumped fences and played with dogs three times his size.  And poor Buddy...for a time it was just the two of them and Buddy would stand at the window, begging to leave, if Boo was around.

And so there were four:  Buddy, Boomer, Bailey and Barney.  We didn’t intend to name them all with B’s, but it seemed to fit.  We had two, Steve’s parents had two, and when they were together, those four dogs were an incredible example of the life changing force of a family..  

We lost them one by one until Boo, the most unlikely of them all, was the last one left.

Over time Boo learned to trust and to love and to enjoy life without chaos.  He became the perfect 90 pound lap dog, enjoying snuggles the way he had once enjoyed terrorizing a city.  At 13 he was still going strong, walking 2 to 3 miles a day with Steve’s parents.  He was a fiercely loyal dog, one whose strength was derived from the love he received so unconditionally.

When Steve’s parents brought Boo to our home on Wednesday, he was full of life.  A little slower now at 13 years old, he was still running through our yard in pursuit of an elusive scent.  They left for a vacation and he lay down in our home.  And he was unable to stand without our help again.

Boo’s trust and love for Steve’s parents was so complete that he never once gave a sign of the cancer that had riddled his body.  He lived his life with them, full of vigor to the end, until they were gone and he was able to lay down for good.  Their love sustained him and kept him strong, and I believe with my entire heart, that he wanted them to remember him that way.  He chose a time when their hearts could not break at his weakness, and he let himself fade into his illness.

It came quickly this morning as Steve and I were with him at the vet.  His head in my lap, his eyes cleared for a moment and he was gone.  The last one.

To a life well lived, a life well loved, we’ll miss you, Boo.