I will always remember this young chap named Dinky. He had the knack of creating magic with his rubbery little paws.
Dinky loved the baths he got from my husband, Joe. He came from Panama (as a gift from my stepdaughter when she was stationed overseas), with his sweetheart, Sweetie, a cocker spaniel. When Sweetie was sick and dying, I was unraveling at the seams. I was sitting on a chair next to our dining room table, and Dinky jumped upon my lap and stuck his paw over my right eye to stop me from crying. He pressed the tears back as they spiraled down my cheeks. I then knew I had an angel by my side with Dinky around. At times, I grieved over my mother and brother’s passing, while caressing his sweet, smelling, strawberry-blond fur and rubbing his paws next to my body. I remember painting a picture of the sky and didn’t know how to exactly make the clouds. When I took a break from my painting and came back, I caught Dinky moving the paint with his paw across my canvas to make cloud formations in the sky. He was quite the artist and could change the moods of my composition from the dimmest to the most radiant. Somehow, we clicked and blossomed together. Every year, since Sept. 11, 2004, my husband and I pay tribute to this sweet, extraordinarily, gifted pet, who lived with us for 17 years, and who we loved so very much. He helped to keep me out of the psych ward with his compassion and understanding of my mental health, and he was his beautiful self in every way.