Farewell to Our Darling

July 4, 1999-May 11, 2013

Ramsey always propped his head on the armrest of "his" chair

This is a letter to God from our daughter, Becky, about Ramsey. Although Ramsey belonged to Becky, he's been living with us since our grandson was born, five years ago. The tiny house already contained husband and wife, two large dogs and two cats when Nate arrived. By the time they moved to a larger house, Ramsey had developed arthritis. The steps were difficult for him, so he continued to live with us.

Dear God,

Yesterday afternoon, you may have noticed Ramsey Chase Fowler, a creature of uncommon beauty, as he passed through your gates (which we hope are not electric – he doesn’t do well with electric gates). Violet Rice, Sophie Fowler, and Arlo Chase, among others, would have been there to greet him.

If you missed Ramsey for some reason, I hope you will go look for him today. I promise you it will be worth it! You may be especially interested in his uncanny knack for bringing out the very best in people. Anyway, here are some tips on how to find him…

First of all, Ramsey will be as far as possible from any Arabbers* you might have with you, so don’t start there.

If you see a circle of angels, half kneeling, oooh-ing and ahh-ing, check to see what’s at the center. It’s probably Ramsey, his soft fur, velvety ears, and soulful gaze just discovered by adoring new companions.

You should also check for him in the kitchen, if you have something like that there, or beneath the dining room table. His love for us was nearly matched by his love for snacks. And as you’ll probably come to appreciate, Ramsey is a sublimely patient dog. He will wait as long as it takes.

Do you have any comfortable old chairs there, with wide seats and low armrests and yummy upholstery? If so, it’s a safe bet Ramsey will soon find his favorite among them. And from that point forward, it will be much, much easier to locate him at any given moment.

And finally, having come fully into his own before he left us, Ramsey may even be where the children play. With them, his sublime patience served again, slowly replacing his fear of their quick movements and high-pitched voices with gentle love.

Good luck in your search and know that if you see that a pillow is missing from your couch, you’re hot on his trail. And when you find our Ramsey, please make sure he knows how much we love him and will miss him. Most important, please, please let him on your lap and enjoy him, fulfilling his heart’s simple desire, for all eternity. Please take care of our Ramsey for us!

Thank you and Amen,

Becky

p.s. Also, if it’s not against the rules there, he’d love a good game of “pull” every now and then. 
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*"Arabbers" are men who sell fresh produce on the streets of Baltimore from horse-drawn carts. Ramsey would get nervous if he encountered an arabber during a daytime walk, but the mere glimpse of the silhouette of a distant cart after sundown unhinged him. He would hightail it back to their rowhouse, dragging his mistress by his leash, as if they were being  pursued by a pack of wolves. 

Ramsey was either all or part pit-bull. Opinions varied. When he moved from Baltimore to Prince George's County, MD, where owning a pitbull is illegal, he was transformed into a "terrier mix" overnight. 

A Day of "Making Nice" and ARGO

Yesterday I was at church from early morning until late afternoon. Our brief Sunday morning choir practice began earlier than usual, at 9:15. After church, I helped set up Wyatt Hall for a funeral reception and attended the 2 PM funeral for a dear woman who actually practiced what we promise in our Baptismal Covenant--"to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself." I had known she was a retired librarian,  but had not known that her library was at Northern Virginia Community College, which would have entailed a one-way commute of nearly an hour. Co-workers and women she had encouraged to complete their educations traveled some distance on a beautiful April Sunday afternoon to say good-bye, but I am not surprised. Rebecca was a loving woman. 

The parishioners brought way too much food for the reception afterwards. At the end of the day, we boxed up the leftovers and took them to Reality House, a half-way house for folks in recovery, which is just down the street from us. "Thank you, Jesus!" said one of the residents as she helped carry the cut-up vegetables, tea sandwiches and cake into the house.

After acting more sociable than I actually am for more than eight hours, I was ready to turn off the phone and raise the drawbridge. That evening we--husband, pit-bull and cat-- watched ARGO, a thoroughly enjoyable cliff-hanger. "Get that plane up in the air!" I fretted, as the story moved toward its climax. Would the six American diplomats, who were impersonating Canadian film makers, manage to elude the clutches of the Iranians, who were holding the other American diplomats hostage after the embassy take-over in 1979? Glitches in the carefully-crafted escape plan kept popping up, escalating my anxiety. In addition to suspense, the film displayed an impressive array of engaging characters: fusty government bureaucrats, irreverent Hollywood types, and a brilliant CIA operative, a good guy for once. The success of his mission depended on winning the complete trust of all six Americans, which he appeared to do, with one persnickety exception.

Tory if you're reading this, I have a question for you. (Tory, who blogs at ioftenwonderwoman.blogspot.com, is from Toronto.) Ben Affleck, whose speciality as a CIA operative" was getting people out," put the six Americans through a crash course on their new Canadian identities, including correcting their accents. I expected him to work on the pronunciation of "about" or "house," but instead he cautioned the woman who was supposed to be from Toronto not to call it "ToronTO."   Natives call it  "Torono," he said. Tory, is this true?  

Fire!

One week ago today, I heard Mabel (Margaret and Michael's dog, who was at our house for doggie day care) barking like crazy. When I went to let her in, I saw a low-burning fire all along our back fence. It seemed to be in the neighbor's yard, which was filled with billowing white smoke. Next thing I know, the  fire looked like it was on our side of the fence, licking at the base of a tree. (It was! We were left with a patch of scorched ground and trees after the fire was out.) I called 911. Then I went outside. The fire department was already there. I wasn't the only one to dial 911.

The neighbor was already telling his story to the fire investigator. He claimed he'd started raking leaves after getting home from work and that the first he knew of the fire was when he heard it crackling. A case of spontaneous combustion, according to him. My first thought was that he'd been burning leaves and had lost control of the fire. He seemed to be suggesting that it started in both our yards simultaneously, but most of the burn was on his side of the fence. Actually, before I even came out of our house, I'd seen a big flare-up on his side of the fence near his pile of leaves. The fire investigator wasn't exactly buying his story. He took me aside and questioned me about mischievous kids, neighborhood vendettas, etc. Meanwhile, a Pauline Bunyan of a fire woman, with a huge ax, was chopping up a smoldering woodpile along the fence of a third neighbor.

Phil was away at the time. When he got home, he said he'd seen the neighbor burning stuff in his back yard five or six times recently. He says he complained to me about it, but I must have tuned him out. Otherwise, I would have told the fire investigator. The investigator had left his card, so Phil called him.  The house in question used to be a group home and we'd thought it still was, but the leaf-burner is apparently the new owner and has been living there since last summer. The fire investigator thanked Phil for the new information and said he'd go have a little chat with the neighbor about Rule # One: It is illegal to set an open fire in our county. In fact, the county had just issued a "red flag" alert that very day, which meant no fires of any kind due to dry conditions. 

Introducing a VIF (Very Important Fish)

Why? 

Why should one tiny component of Corporate America be allowed unlimited access to a fish that is so essential to the survival of the blue crab, the striped bass and the Chesapeake Bay itself? Early in 2013, the state of Virginia finally set a catch limit on Omega Protein, a company that has overfished the menhaden for decades in order to produce dietary supplements and animal feed. Of course Omega Protein plans to fight back with all it's got, but it looks like they've earned themselves a few powerful enemies, thanks to this excellent book.