Wayman Wynn, who has lived with us in this area of Texas (once the physical homeland of the most aloof of the venerable Comanche), for the past 8 and a half years, today passed into the other side of the space we occupy, in Parker County, Texas. He was born 11 years ago (maybe in May, 2002) in Arizona, and came to us via the Humane Society of Southern Arizona in Tucson, on October 15, 2002.

We loved him very, very dearly, and even though we steel ourselves to the passing of these canine ephemerals, these happy spirits, we are never prepared for the day (today), when we must, at last say our farewells to them, in this plane. We are always hopeful (a strong trait of WW’s) that they live on in the spiritual side of our Kwahadi–blessed neighborhood.

• Afternoon – June 10, 2013

Over the past few days and weeks, WW has been very sticky, and has had a couple of breathing issues, that he recovered from, but yesterday (June 10, 2013) was the day he did not bounce back. After struggling to breathe for a while, he settled into a diminished relaxation, out on the cool concrete of the back porch. We sat with him, talking with him, and using a wet rag to keep him cool. While his body seemed to shut down a little at a time – mobility, senses, etc., he kept his eyes on us, blinking occasionally, and responding somewhat to our voices and touch.

Over the last 11 years, much has been written about Wayman Wynn’s many abilities and traits. As we sobbed and talked and talked and sobbed, I was reminded of the stubbornness of these creatures – the absolute, get-down Obstinance of Catahoulas in general, and of WW specifically. One of my posts spoke to this. So as we sat, waiting for Wayman to go or stay, struggling and relaxing, we wondered how long this could go on. It occurred to me that if the latest event were a stroke, then he could go anytime – or he could linger for hours or days. Since my mother passed in the same way, I was concerned about the ‘jeopardy’ of an extended transition for him, and for us. What would we do if he lingered? As usual, I was wrong.

So we asked him what he was going to do, and we told him that it was OK to leave, that we would take all that we had learned from him, and carry on, trying to manage in this screwed up world, with a particular ‘Houla slant on the important stuff. You know, snacks, hugs, truck rides, and most of all – naps. Well, he settled in a little after that, and he even got a little pink back in his tongue (it had been so blue with the lack of oxygen from the breathing problems). His eyes were clear and steady, staring that stare, as he never, ever, ever looked away, as some dogs do. His puppy-hood was so abusive that we believed that he simply would never let us out of his sight, ever. Except for a very few, very brief times, we were never out of his presence.

On this day, we were with him as always. We bathed him with a wet cloth, and told him how beautiful he was (he always loved to hear that), and kissed him (never saw a dog like to get kissed so much), when we came back out after getting the mail from out front, we saw that he had left us, that he let himself slip into that nap that he loved the most.

He absolutely loved laying out on the rug in front of the TV, as we all watched movies, or a documentary, or some silly people doing silly things. “Why don’t we just eat – this is Silly TV.” But Wayman Wynn didn’t mind what we did, as long as we did it together. But this time, he didn’t wait for us, for his nap. He took his last nap alone, forever, alone as we all must. The time of his passing is approximate, at about 4:15 PM CDT, on the 10th of June, 2013.

• Dawn – June 11, 2013

The void in the household is obvious, but the quiet and serenity of the morning is comforting. I finished up the post above, two finger pecking it in through my tears, and preparing for the Wayman Wynn Monument to Obstinate Living, Snack Hut and Graveside Park. I took off work this Tuesday to start the project.

Wayman Wynn is planted in the east yard, near where we believe the spirit warriors of the Comanche Kwahadi band travel through this world. On bright sunny late afternoons, and in the dark of the black night, in this clearing in Texas, we see, or sense their presence, as they slip down our hallway from East to West. A band of them must have loved this little clearing in the woods by the creek. To this day, the deer and coyote are here, and they must have been here for many years before our house was built.

• “The Comanche Kwahadi band, “Antelopes,” were also known by kwah-heeher kennuh, Kwahada, Quahadi, and by other bands as “Sun-shades-on-their-backs” for their habit of using buffalo-hide parasols when riding on the staked plains. The Kwahadi were the most remote and fierce of the Comanche bands. The Kwahadi avoided many of the epidemic disasters that befell other bands simply by their remoteness and refusal to have any dealings with whites.” Mike Kearby’s Texas

So in the full light of the 3rd millennium, the hunting parties of those gone by, step through this dell occasionally. Now, they’ll have a damn good dog to help them interpret this crazy world…

• More later … Good Night, Dog Dog. You are the sweetest Boy-Dog in the Universe. Hug the Dog, Save the World…

Argyle and Marvin

20 November 2014: Almost 18 months since WW, and his nephews, Marvin and Argyle, aka Dog Biscuits have been with us over a year.They are a senior bonded pair, and are certainly carrying on the tradition of Martha Jane, Wayman Wynn, et al, being just as stubborn and loveable as all get out. =>

The years go so very fast and before you know it that romping pup is old and grey muzzled and they have sat by our sides while we read, watch TV, and work on our computers. Every so often they come and lay their heads in our laps, toss our elbow with their muzzle or gaze into our eyes and wait for us to notice them.  Take a moment now to commune.

I am your dog, and I have a little something I’d like to whisper in your ear. I know that you humans lead busy lives. Some have to work, some have children to raise. It always seems like you are running here and running there, often much too fast, often never noticing the truly grand things in life.

Look down at me now, while you sit there at your computer. See the way my dark brown eyes look at yours? They are slightly cloudy now. That comes with age. The gray hairs are beginning to ring my soft muzzle. You smile at me; I see love in your eyes. What do you see in mine? Do you see a spirit? A soul inside, who loves you as no other could in the world? A spirit that would forgive all trespasses of prior wrong doing for just a simple moment of your time? That is all I ask. To slow down, if even for a few minutes, to be with me.

So many times you have been saddened by the words you read on that screen, of others of my kind, passing. Sometimes we die young and oh so quickly, sometimes so suddenly it wrenches your heart out of your throat. Sometimes, we age so slowly before your eyes that you may not even seem to know until the very end, when we look at you with grizzled muzzles and cataract clouded eyes. Still the love is always there, even when we must take that long sleep, to run free in a distant land. I may not be here tomorrow; I may not be here next week. Someday you will shed the water from your eyes, that humans have when deep grief fills their souls, and you will be angry at yourself that you did not have just “one more day” with me. Because I love you so, your sorrow touches my spirit and grieves me.

We have NOW, together. So come, sit down here next to me on the floor, and look deep into my eyes. What do you see? If you look hard and deep enough we will talk, you and I, heart to heart. Come to me not as “alpha” or as “trainer” or even “Mom or Dad,” come to me as a living soul and stroke my fur and let us look deep into one another’s eyes and talk. I may tell you something about the fun of chasing a tennis ball, or I may tell you something profound about myself, or even life in general.

You decided to have me in your life because you wanted a soul to share such things with. Someone very different from you, and here I am. I am a dog, but I am alive. I feel emotion, I feel physical senses, and I can revel in the differences of our spirits and souls. I do not think of you as a “Dog on two feet” — I know what you are and who you are. You are human, in all your quirkiness, and I love you still.

Now, come sit with me, on the floor. Enter my world, and let time slow down if only for 15 minutes. Look deep into my eyes, and whisper into my ears. Speak with your heart, with your joy, and I will know your true self. We may not have tomorrow, but we do have today, and life is oh so very short. So please–come sit with me now and let us share these precious moments we have together.

Love, on behalf of canines everywhere.

Your Dog.

Author Unknown.

From WW’s Dad: This is why we’re here, staying up too late on the computer, sending out these digitized bits and bytes to each other, miles and continents apart. I ran across this while looking for content for Our Blue Dog, a website about the life, times and loss of our precious Martha Jane, the Queensland Blue Heeler. Tell you what, Pupsters, this one gets me every time…

This was originally retrieved from the Pet Guardian Angels of America website:  A Dog’s Wish