Dogs can write? (long post warning)

I am going to take a risk here. I admit that I just read a book (in under an hour) that was “written” by a dog. Not only is it a dog, but a deceased dog. However, because it happens to be the deceased dog of one of my favorite authors – I read it. Some of you are thinking this is immature and some of you might take my suggestion to read the book and think that IT is immature…your opinion. I am okay with that. On occasion I can be immature. I know this about me. “it is what it is” and you would find that quote even funnier if you read this book. So here it is:

So, all of that to say…READ this book. BUY this book. All the proceeds go to Canine Companions for Independence.

One thing I love about this book is the fact that it included some text from a book actually written by Dean Koontz that I found very cool and I will share that here…but this reflects Dean Koontz and is from his book Odd Hours but I digress – here is the excerpt from Odd Hours reprinted in this book:

“Grief can destroy you – or focus you

You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone.

Or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn’t allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it.

But when it’s over and you’re alone, you begin to see it wasn’t just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill. Instead, it was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it.

The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can’t get off your knees for a long time; you’re driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss.

And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life.

I want that read aloud at my funeral (in the distant future) and handed to everyone on a laminated card as they leave the service.


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