Remembering Bandit

I love these photos of Bandit because as sweet as she looks, this girl took absolutely no shit from anyone.

One minute she would allow herself to be stroked and loved and her long silky fur brushed, and seemingly for no reason at all, except maybe to herself in her weird kitty brain, she’d lash out and inflict serious damage with her teeth or claws.

Late in life, Bandit was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism and chronic renal failure. With the help of a great vet, we did all we could to extend her quality of life as long as possible, but on July 26, 2010, at the age of thirteen, there was no denying that her journey as my spiritual kitty daughter had come to an end. The doc came over and assisted her transition over the Rainbow Bridge.

Bandit is the one I still dream about; freaky lucid dreams as if she’s still here with me.

Rest in peace, my furry little soulmate.

The Unseen

It’s been a long while since the gardens at Casa de Enchanted Seashells were honored by the presence of a four-legged child. When we had a completely empty nest, there was supposed to be a lot of travel and other fun but that didn’t really happen, at least not in the way I had happily anticipated.

This was my beloved Bandit…Bandit in a box

…and my beautiful Border Collie boy –Victor at age sixteen, enjoying his senior years at what was to be his last Christmas before crossing over the Rainbow Bridge, sitting in the place of honor because he deserved it.

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Lately, something odd and mysterious has been going on here.  I’ve discovered tennis balls and other toys that simply seem to randomly appear out of nowhere, some even in the middle of the lawn, as if a game of fetch was still in progress.

See?

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There’s a monogamous pair of coyotes that visit me on a regular basis and I have a wildlife camera set up to record their activities, so I know the balls don’t come from them, although that’d be super cool if they were bringing me gifts to thank me for my vocal support regarding coexistence with wildlife, instead of vilifying and murdering them.

But…

My yard is completely fenced in–not that coyotes care about that–but to emphasize the fact that a normal domestic dog roaming the neighborhood couldn’t possibly find a way in, and certainly not with a ball in his or her mouth.

I like to think it’s the spirit of my Victor sending me a gigantic message that he’s still chasing tennis balls and he’s up there with Sabrina and Stella Rondo and Beowulf and Tovah and Bandit and Misty and Tawny and Blackie, all my beautiful children who were so very loved and cherished during their lifetimes and beyond.

Here’s my most special part wolf, Beowulf, and a MUCH younger me.

I was part of a covert rescue operation and bottlefed him every two hours. I was his mom and he was my perfect boy. We were inseparable. Soul mates.

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Yup, I really do miss them all so very much.

But where do the balls really come from?