Ch. Meadowsett's Minuteman, JH - "Trevor" 7/6/85 - 6/1/99

 

From the center on out to the fringes of my soul now exists an emptiness.

Alas, I knew my greatest friend was old and failing but thought, hoped, prayed one more glorious summer would be mine with his magnificent spirit. This was not to be. Today, after living with systemic mast cell cancer disease for almost a year, it was time to say "goodbye old friend until we meet again."

 

The shock challenges the unbearable - yet again.

Phoebe, ourfirst English Setter.

My late beloved wife Kathie.

My mischievous Fianna.

And now this sad day.

 

From the first moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was our dog. That old soul of his gazing from his puppy eyes illustrated that while perhaps not rebirth but- he carried millenniums of knowledge just radiating from within.

How right that perception was. I remember when he just jumped in the water and started to swim with swan like grace. He never really needed house training - just seemed to know.

 

And when our wonderful friend, Stu Farnham, took him to a hunting test, even I was amazed that, in spite of never showing an interest in birds, the dog could hunt. And point. And do it in style.

His movement. Perfect. Easy.

 

He never ran faster than he needed. And always ran with an intense ease and economy of motion never ever looking strained or frantic.

 

His playful nose biting. His kissing. The way he did the doggie dance when he pounced on his chewy bones. (Gaity)

 

His car sense made me scratch my head in wonder. He just knew what to do. Always would walk off axis at every road crossing, cock his ears, and cross.

 

This was a dog that could climb and flatten his body at will. It was hard keeping him in a fenced in area. Not that he would ever be foolish enough to run off, he just didnít like the idea that he had been confined. Wouldnít come smartly until he was 4 years old and then did it with quick attention. We were baffled.

 

And look out for the way squeaky toys made him crazy. (Gnutty)! The docile old Trevorís eyes would light with a youthful burn and he would go wild for play.

 

But most of all was his sense of loyalty and love. This will always be with me. He loved me, and me him in a way only a dog can have for a person and a person for a great dog.

 

God bless you boy, wherever you. Forgive me for those times I might have not done my best for you as I have no need to forgive you.

 

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