(David)
Blaze, our family dog and my familiar, is passing from this world. He knows he is welcome to stay here with us, after his passing, if he wishes to do so. I think he's likely to do that, but it will be his decision.
In this life, he has been a cross of two big powerful dog breeds, an American Bulldog and a European Mastiff. He came to live with us three years ago, placed here by a rescue home after his first seven bruising years were filled with abuse and neglect. The home knew we were experienced and that we offered him his best chance of a safe and peaceful forever home, with all the medical care he needed. They were right. His three years with us have been exactly that, safe and peaceful. Also with joy and fun, which I believe came as something of a surprise to him.
I wasn't expecting him to be my familiar. Our other dogs over the years have been dear companions, one after the other, but none of them made the quick and strong connection with me that I'd previously only experienced with my cat James, thirty years ago, when I came home from war physically broken and he took his warm purring residence on my chest and in my heart and mind. James is still here, all these years later. His this-world self lives in the weeping cherry tree we planted over his body after he passed, and I often hear his characteristic landing footfall on the bottom stair inside our house. I don't know where he goes in the otherworld, but in this one he remains a familiar presence. The rescue home warned us that Blaze had to be a one-pet-home animal. He's a killer, they said. But he's been fine with James, and I think they might become companions now.
Yes, I'm grieving. I love him. I will always love him. He knows this, and I know he loves me too. Holding hands with my grief, however, is my certain knowledge that he will go where he wants after his passing. Be that here or elsewhere, he will be in his place. His world will be safe and peaceful.
I love you, my Blazey. I will always love you.
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