Bear's Pet Memorial Garden and Stone Marker

Click here for a post on how to make this garden marker as part of a pet memorial garden. My 13-year old was artistic director for the garden marker and my 11-year-old for the seashell design. My 9-year-old son and 4-year-old daughter helped with both. This was an extremely healing activity for our family. Bear's gentle spirit will always remain with us.

Bear Midnight Miller

"Also the animals possess a soul, and men must love and feel solidarity with our smaller brethren."
Pope John Paul II

“Bear is going to Puppy Heaven today,” I told my four-year-old daughter on Friday, “She will be able to go play with all our bunnies who are there - Hoppity, Peach, and Lucky.” She seemed to understand. She had watched me change bandages on her bleeding paws and carry her around because she was no longer able to walk, and she knew Bear was old and sick.

Bear, who has been in perfect health all thirteen years of her happy life, had a sudden decline over the past two weeks. Her had stopped eating and breathing was so poor that we knew her time was imminent.

“I can’t stand to see her suffer any more,” my husband said, and so we arranged to have a traveling veterinarian come to our house that evening at 7:30 PM, when we could have the whole family together. Still I hoped for a natural death for my gentle friend.

I carried her outside for some sunshine. At around noon, I went out and blessed her with holy water. “Please Jesus, take her home to be with you. St. Francis of Assissi, please help her.”

Although I had bathed her two days before, her smell was attracting flies, so I brought her in to the kitchen. I cleaned the house, put out freshly cut flowers and lit candles, to make the atmosphere peaceful for that evening.

Two of the children came home at 3:35. I explained to them what we planned to do and why. They were a little upset. At 3:40 I went outside to push my little one on the swings. At 3:45 I heard a yelp and the water bowl crash. I ran inside and saw that she had passed, her head on her paw.

I called the children and when they all met in the kitchen at once, they all started to howl. I tried to hug them all at once, and moved them into the living room. We stayed there for about 20 minutes and then moved outside to the deck. I was surprised that they were able to enjoy a goldfish snack, and actually play a little game with the goldfish crackers.

We had to pick up my older daughter from cross country at the high school. I warned them not to say anything to her until we got home. I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of the school or even in front of my house.

She came out of the school looking very happy. “I had a great day!” she declared.
Her sister and I exchanged looks when she was putting her stuff into the trunk.
We got home and I said we needed to go around back. I wanted to tell her in the back yard before going into the house.

Later she would say that she always knows what is coming when I tell them to sit down. We had gone through this with the bunnies.

“Come here,” I said, as I put my arms around her.

“Is it Bear?”

She looked at the other kids and knew. It was even worse for her. We had gotten Bear as a two-month-old puppy when she was a two-month-old newborn, and we celebrated their birthdays together.

Coming home to no dog was hard. . .

On Sunday morning I dreamt that Bear was playing with Alamo, the golden retriever of my childhood. I woke to the sound of giggling girls. I knew we were going to be okay. I went to Michael’s to purchase a garden stone kit. Together we made a garden stone for Bear, and planted mums around her grave.

"All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful:
the Lord God made them all."
Cecil F. Alexander"

This Old Dog

This week brought a new trial to the Miller household. Our black Labrador, Bear, who has been completely healthy for thirteen years, started bleeding from her paws. I originally thought she had broken off her claws and wrapped them up, thinking they would heal on their own. When the bleeding failed to improve, I brought her in to a veterinarian. I was in for a big shock.

Bear hasn’t left home in years, and she was shaking from the time I carried her out to the car to the time I lifted her onto the table.

I started by apologizing that she hadn’t been bathed recently; I hadn’t wanted to aggravate the bleeding and she has been spending her days outside. I also felt the need to explain why her claws hadn’t been trimmed recently. The assistant was very understanding. Again I felt apologetic as I removed her bandaging and she started bleeding all over the table.

“She has tumors in her paws,” the lady vet with the kind eyes told me.

My mind flashed back to my childhood dog, Alamo, a lively golden retriever whose life ended at the age of fourteen after we found tumors on her head. It was the first time I ever saw my dad cry; the second time was when his own father died.

Was she going to tell me to put her down? My eyes filled with tears.

I saw the doctor’s nose redden in response to my own show of emotion. “We can try an antibiotic for ten days,” she explained, “After that the only option would be surgery, which I wouldn’t suggest for a dog her age. Please call me by the end of the week and tell me how she is doing.”

I went home crying. I had to tell the kids what was going on with their beloved pet. As the days go on, they watch as I change her bandages. She doesn’t want to get up, so they have been bringing her food and water. She stopped eating hard dog food, so we bought her canned food. She even turns away from that now, and I have to force her to eat her pills, wrapped within deli meats. It feels odd now that I don’t have to watch the table to make sure she doesn’t jump up and eat my husband’s dinner.

Four days into the ten days of antibiotics prescribed, I wonder if she will improve; if she will pass peacefully; or if I will have to make a decision to euthanize my loyal friend.

Five Raccoons

Group of raccoons standing erect

Coming out of the King Kullen parking lot, a light blue Oldsmobile with Florida plates cruised uncertainly ahead of me. Was that an old man with a hat driving? Suddenly I was reminded of my Poppop, John S. Nagy Sr., my maternal grandfather who passed away a year ago, with the honors of being both a New York City Police Officer and Veteran of War. Not to mention world’s funniest grandfather who wore his old man’s hat with style.

The tears that came then were both of happiness and sadness – happiness that the memories of Poppop and the time we had spent together will always be with me – sadness that he is gone from this world forever, leaving his wife of several decades behind. I think of him whenever the Mets play the Marlins, because he was both a Mets fan (being a native New Yorker) and a Marlins fan (having moved to Florida in retirement).

Wiping away my tears, I was driving down the long country road that leads to my house, when my headlights shone on a family of five raccoons crossing a yard ahead of me. No one was behind me and I stopped short. I thought they had stopped right in the center of my front end. To be certain, I edged up and turned around.

No road-kill in the middle of the road. There was one raccoon on the right side of the road, standing upright and keeping watch as the other ones re-crossed in the opposite direction again. I watched as two cars sped by in the opposite direction. Why did I care?

My Dad would have said it was good riddance. In my childhood neighborhood of Bethpage, squirrels and raccoons were pests that were gotten rid of by multiple methods. Drowning, carbon monoxide, and bb guns were common methods of killing them off. A farming neighbor said that if you caught them and spray painted their tails and then drove them off to the state park, they would be back within three days. My Dad did that and sure enough there were blue-tailed squirrels running up the Maples in my backyard three days later.

The next day I went to carve up the watermelon for the kids as they swam. I searched the packed fridge and couldn’t find it. “Where did you put the watermelon?” I yelled to my son. “What watermelon?” he answered. I ran to the car and found it under the backseat. It hadn’t been fully ripe when I bought it – it was perfect now.

Why did I stop for those stupid raccoons? Again I asked myself, as I cut up the large, juicy fruit. I brought it out to my husband, kids, and nephews, who jumped out of the pool and eagerly ate it up, throwing the rinds into the woods. Some deer, or more likely a raccoon, would come eat them up, and then run out into the road on the other side. Would they make it?

Everlasting Summer

An August Afternoon (Restrike Etching)

“Nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own; and from morning to night, as from the cradle to the grave, it is but a succession of changes so gentle and easy that we can scarcely mark their progress.” - Charles Dickens

Reluctantly, my three-year-old and I pulled out the faded marigolds that have lined my driveway since August. She and I deadheaded the plants, putting the seeds away for safe-keeping until the spring. I was sad to see the color go, but happy to see the clean look of the driveway once the leaves and dead flowers were gone.

Usually, the seasons don’t come and go without warning. They ease in and out, and with relatively predictable timing. Still you hear people exclaiming their shock at the “sudden change” in weather.

Children and the elderly are like that too. People are always telling me it seemed like “yesterday” that their children were little. They say it happens when you “blink”.

When the kids went back to school in the fall, the school nurse remarked about how many inches my eldest daughter had shot up over the summer. I measured her and realized that she is taller than me. When did that happen?

An older friend or relative, after suffering through an illness for several months, passes away “suddenly”. From the outside, this is easy to see. From the inside, it is harder to be objective about the time as it passes.

I think of the seasons translating to human development as spring for birth, summer for young to middle-aged adult, fall for the elderly, and winter for death. There is no birth or dying in Heaven. Everyone will have new, perfect bodies and be in the prime of their development. When the universe is renewed at the time of Jesus’ coming, it will be like a one-time spring that turns into an everlasting summer.

Flowers will bloom and never fade! Leaves will bud and never fall off! There will be no weeding, for no plant will be deemed undesirable. We will walk around the garden of life praising God for ever for His Glory.

We will not be sad to watch our little ones grow up, or to watch our elderly die. We will not hesitate to form human bonds, for friendship will never die and neither will our friends.

In the section of the Catechism of the Catholic Church entitled “The Hope of the New Heaven and the New Earth” (section 1042), drawing on sacred scripture, we read:

“At the end of time, the Kingdom of God will come in its fullness. After the universal judgment, the righteous will reign for ever with Christ, glorified in body and soul. The universe itself will be renewed:
The Church…will receive her perfection only in the flory of heaven, when will come the time of the renewal of all things. At that time, together with the human race, the universe itself, which is so closely related to man and which attains its destiny through him, will be perfectly re-established in Christ.”

Igneous Rocks, Farmville, and the Horses of Death

“So, what’s new in the virtual world?” my husband asks on Saturday evening, kissing me hello.

“Nothing much. What’s new in the real world?”

Dinner has been ready but I have been keeping the meatballs warm in the oven for the past half hour. I take them out and mumble an apology.

“They look like igneous rocks,” he comments.

“You’ll just have to use my sauce then,” I say, “It’s been simmering for the past three hours.” To prove that, the house is filled with the glorious smell of olive oil, garlic, onions, tomato, and basil, with just a touch of White Zinfandel.

The kids come to the table and answer his original question with an explanation of all the new developments in Farmville. My children have never spent much time on the computer, but since they were introduced to online games and it has been raining quite a bit lately, this online game has become a household obsession.

After dinner, I tell them that I want them to stay off the computer on Sunday because it is going to be a nice day.

“But Mom, I just planted $15,000 worth of watermelon seeds! If I don’t harvest them when they ripen, they will wither and die.”

“Don’t worry about your virtual plants, honey. I’ll check on them from my computer and make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“No Farmville for you, either,” my husband teases me.

On Sunday morning we were treated to a reading about the end times. The deacon tells us that this really is about the present times. We are always to be ready, for no man knows the hour at which Christ will come. I think to myself: Would I want to be caught playing Farmville when Jesus returns?

On the way home, I am chastising them for their treatment of each other. During the Lord‘s Prayer my two middle children had been squirming around and not letting the other hold hands. “If Jesus came back right now, would you want Him to catch you mistreating each other?

I am still working my way through The Catechism of the Catholic Church, from front to back, one section at a time. After lunch I pick it up and read:

“Every action of yours, every thought, should be those of one who expects to die before the day is out. Death would have no great terrors for you if you had a quiet conscience…Then why not keep clear of sin instead of running away form death? If you aren’t fit to face death today, it’s very unlikely you will be tomorrow…”

[quoted in section 1014 in The Catechism; from The Imitation of Christ, 1, 23, 1]

I thought again of the Horses of Death in the recent version of A Christmas Carol. My ten-year-old had wanted to know what they represented. I had explained then that we should have no fear of death if we are in a State of Grace. Scrooge was afraid because he was not.

We went out to set up a new pitching net and spent the afternoon raking leaves and working on softball skills. It was time well spent. Dinner was a hodgepodge of leftovers from the previous three nights. Then we turned on our computers to check on our farms.

Painting by William Blake: “Death on a Pale Horse”

My Grandfather Has Passed Away

John S. Nagy, Sr., NYPD and veteran of war, is survived by his loving wife Delia Nagy, four children, and many grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
My favorite memory of my Poppop is when we used to go walking with his little dog Penny and he would tell me stories. "You're funny, Poppop," I would say, and he would laugh and say, "You're funny, Lisa Bear."

I have several beautiful heirloom pieces of carpentry in my house that were made by him. My little cousin said that he went to join the great Carpenter in Heaven.

You can view a picture here of my grandparents together at their wedding anniversary.

Goodbye Lucky

This past Thursday, we said goodbye to yet another rabbit, Lucky. We had adopted him just two months ago. He was at least five years old and we knew his time would be limited. Yet my eldest daughter says it was the most difficult for her.

I have a feeling that, in the long run, this was the best experience for us when it comes to our small pets’ dying. The other two rabbits were still young and we were unsure as to whether we could have prevented their premature deaths. This one was being cared for in its old age. He was warm, well-fed, and loved. It was simply his time to go.

At 9:00 Thursday night, normally my children would all be in bed, but my eldest daughter was up late finishing up a research assignment. She happened to look at Lucky and thought it was moving strangely. She yelled to me, “Mommy, come quick!”

I reluctantly put down my dark chocolate Klondike bar and went into the laundry room, where Lucky resided. He appeared to be having a seizure of some sort. I picked him up and his body was limp. He was still blinking and occasionally twitched his legs.

We took him into the kitchen and laid a cotton shirt on him to make him warm and comfortable. The other two older children were called down. I knew he was near his end and thought this was an opportunity to teach about caring for someone in the last moments of life.

We took turns holding and stroking the rabbit. After an hour, I sent the 8- and 10- year olds to bed. My 11-year-old had done her crying and sat at the kitchen table copying out her report as I tended to the rabbit. Near 11:00, the rabbit made a sound. “Meep,” it said. It was the first time it had opened its mouth in the past two hours. It started moving again.

I picked it up and my daughter dropped some water into its mouth. It repeatedly opened its mouth and lapped up the drops of water. Then I saw its eyes glaze over as it stopped breathing. I laid it down again, and covered it up.

The children still went to school the next day. My toddler looked at the rabbit, unmoving in its cage. I told her, “Lucky’s sleeping. He was sick and old and now he is gone to heaven.” She repeated, “Bunny…heaven.” She did not go back to look at him the rest of the morning.

Later, while she was napping, the kids came home from school and we buried him in the backyard corner garden, next to Peach and Hoppity. It was a little difficult for me, with a frozen, snow-covered ground. I had already blessed him with holy water during his final moments, so we simply said a prayer and laid him to rest.

My 11-year-old was upset that our toddler would be asking for Lucky when she woke up. She did go to look at the empty cage. “Where bunny?” she asked. Again I explained, “Bunny went to heaven,” and she repeated, “Bunny…heaven.”

She made the connection later, when I was talking about eating a peach. She said, “Peach…bunny…heaven.”

“Yes, honey, Peach is in bunny heaven with Lucky and Hoppity.”


Picture is of St. Francis of Assissi, patron saint of animals.

Life Without Peach

Slicing a pepper, I thought sadly how I normally would save the vegetable scraps for the bunny. Peach would no longer need them. I saved them anyway, and threw them into the grass for the wild bunnies that scamper through our yard.

My nine-year-old’s immediate reaction to Peach’s passing was the most intense. My eleven-year-old’s was less so, but the sadness is more lingering. She still talks about Hoppity sometimes. “No other bunny could ever replace Peach or Hoppity,” she said.

My seven-year-old son did not show his emotion on the surface but I comforted him anyway, and there were some tears welling up in his eyes when he said goodbye.

Our toddler asked after the bunny today when she saw the empty cage. We repeated to her that Peach had gone to bunny heaven.

We finished the main portion of the swing set today. The swing side is not yet anchored – we will leave that final portion for tomorrow – but the rock wall and slide were able to be traversed. Hence there was much laughter for a good portion of the day, with tears interspersed here and there.

We had to tend to some of the more mundane and morose duties of a pet’s passing. We cleaned her cages – one for inside and one for outside. We put the food and other supplies away to save for the future.

Talking about getting a new bunny next spring gave them hope for a new life to care for, and eased their suffering some.

Heavenly Home for a Bunny

Today was a sad, sad day. When I woke up my husband told me that the rabbit had died.

“What! No! How!” I exclaimed in horror.

“It got really cold last night. It must have frozen.”

I felt really, really terrible. Every day I check the weather to make sure it is safe for Peach to stay in its outdoor cage. If a thunderstorm is predicted, or temperature under 40 degrees, we bring her in to its cage in the garage. In really cold weather, the cage gets brought into the laundry room.

That one day we did not check the weather, and there was a sudden cold snap. It was so warm today – I was outside in a t-shirt – that it seamed really unbelievable that it could have happened.

But it did, and I just dreaded having to tell the children, especially my eldest. She had been distraught after the death of Hoppity, and Peach had been a great solace to her.

Someone suggested waiting until tomorrow – but that just would not be right. We could not just leave her out there for another day and night. They had a right to know.

I put off visiting the cage until after noon. Knowing I would have no stomach to eat afterwards, I made myself eat lunch. I put the baby in for a nap and got out a nice shoebox. I went to the shed for a shovel.

Peach was still soft and fluffy, and I hoped she had died in her sleep and felt no pain in her hypothermia. I dug a hole for later and tried to lose myself in the swing set construction project for a while.

Later, I called my friend with whom we had plans to trick-or-treat. “Not to put a damper on your day, but I just wanted you to know my kids might be a little sad when we come over later…” I asked her to say a little prayer for us around the time my kids were to get home.

As they got off the bus, I greeted them at the door. Their bright and smiling faces ripped through my heart. They were looking forward to some fun trick-or-treating with friends. How much worse would their disappointment be when expecting something good?

I directed them all into the living room and they knew something was up. I had my eldest sit next to me. When I got to the part about there being a “cold snap”, her eyes widened in realization of what I was getting to. The other two needed it spelled out for them. Then there were shrieks and tears and running outside to check and then up the stairs and a locking of doors.

I left them in peace for twenty minutes. My eldest came to me and said she never wanted another rabbit again. She let me hug her. I keyed myself into my nine-year-old’s room and found her still crying on her bed. I put my arms around her.

I asked the girls if they were ready to go outside and say goodbye. They were and we went. I told my toddler the bunny was sleeping.

“Bunny weeping,” she repeated.

Using a small towel, I picked up the rabbit and placed it in its box. They all petted it. I said a prayer. I waited until they were ready before I closed the box. Then we carried it to the corner garden where I had dug the hole, next to where Hoppity lay. I placed it in the hole and covered it up.

“Where’d bunny go?” asked my toddler.

“Bunny went to heaven,” I told her.

“Bunny gone,” she said.

“Do you still want to go trick-or-treating?” I asked.

“Yes,” they all said unanimously.

So we went, and they had a surprisingly good time.

But after we had eaten loads of candy and it was time for bed, they became very sad again. We read “Home for a Bunny”, by Margaret Wise Brown. In the story, a bunny is looking for a home. He finally finds it with another bunny, in a burrow under the ground. The picture reminded us of Hoppity and Peach, who are now sleeping together under the ground. My nine-year-old read it to the baby, replacing “the bunny” with “Peach”, and in the context of Peach finding its home in Heaven along with Hoppity.