For the last seven months, we had not left Kodi alone for more than two hours by himself with the exception of one day (our family was out from California and we spent the day at a park). Sometimes getting no sleep, staying up with him all night. Seeing that he was let out, if he got sick, he was cleaned up, the mess was cleaned up and so on. . .
On Monday, Kodi was out in the yard playing ball with his daddy, Michael. On Wednesday evening December 2nd, 5:10pm, he was gone.
Kodi lived his life to the fullest and as I sit and try to lay words on this page, I realize that without a doubt I will never be able to pen what a terrific animal he truly was here for you to read?
I will say that my life as well as Michael's will never be the same. Kodi will never be replaced. We are truly better people for having him in our lives. I can't sit here and say that his life was better for having known us, but I can say that our lives are richer for having had a glimpse of his love.
In the last 7 months, Michael and I learned patience. We learned that giving is better than getting. We learned that no matter how bad it got, if Kodi could do it, we could. We learned that there was no sacrifice to small for someone who is completely and utterly dependent upon you to take care of them.
Kodi is buried on a hill overlooking his old hunting grounds with his favorite blanket and toys. I can't think of a more fitting way to say goodbye to him than the words of W. H. Auden from my favorite poem. I can't say goodbye yet Kodi, but I promise I will. For this moment, right now a poem and a kiss on your wet sloppy lips. muwahhha
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message HE IS DEAD,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.