Since then, I've been looking for and seeing Princess everywhere: her favorite, now empty dog pillow; the tuft of hair the vet shaved prior to euthanizing Princess; the worn leather collar and nametags resting on our coffee table.
Today, I cleaned out my fridge and there was the last of Princess's canned dog foods, the ones she'd firmly refused all week. Her dog brush is sitting on the porch, hair from the last brushing still there.
I confess that I see Princess in all the usual places, but it's not the feeble elderly companion that left us recently. Instead, I see her stretched out sphinx-like, looking regal as she did in her younger years. I think this is Princess's way of letting me know she's okay, that she wants to be remembered as a vibrant, determined dog. A survivor with huge, endearing, brown eyes. A friend, even now.
When I lose someone dear, I always look for a sign -- something that says I'm okay. Late this afternoon, as I was near the upper pastures checking on our pregnant Charolais heifer, Daisy, a beautiful rainbow stretched across the dark dramatic sky, a message from Princess.
Seeing that rainbow made my heart skip and the burden that I've been carrying, the guilt I feel for taking Princess's life before she starved to death, lifted.
Spring at Sweetgrass is always a reminder that life is bookended by a beginning and an end. For us, the end is Princess leaving us. Thankfully, a new beginning is about to unfold. Daisy is getting ready to deliver her first calf, due sometime between March 22 - 24. Our heifer will go about five days longer if her baby is a little bull calf. Here's a snapshot of Miss Daisy in waiting.
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