by Lynn Byrd
It happened that a dog star appeared in our house this morning: a gold star with a rawhide lanyard tie, hanging from the old balloon mold in the stairwell landing above the kitchen.
Neither Jamie nor I had ever seen it before today.
I found it when I went looking for an item of significance to represent Jack’s love for us and our love for him and there it was, holding space above where he would hide in the shadows before descending the bottom three steps for breakfast, or ascending the top four steps to his safe place. His choice, no forcing.
This morning I found a dog star and when I showed it to Jack, he wagged his tail and licked it. I rubbed it on his broad head and wide chest, underneath his muscled abdomen and across his belly, then down his legs, over his tail and up once again to his elegant black nose.
The scent of his body on the star made him happy. He wagged some more and asked for another rubdown to secure his place in our hallway. I held it to his heart for a long, long time.
And then he flew, and flew, and flew.
Jack buddy, free your mind now. You’re with us forever. You are stardust, golden.
Jack’s last day (image by Carol Maurin)
Little Pet Chapels 