10/26/2023
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐จ๐ฉ ๐๐๐ก๐ก ๐ผ๐ฃ๐ ๐๐๐จ๐ฉ๐๐ข๐๐ฃ๐ฉ ๐ค๐ ๐๐ฃ ๐๐ญ๐ฉ๐ง๐๐ข๐๐ก๐ฎ ๐ฟ๐๐จ๐ฉ๐๐ฃ๐๐ช๐๐จ๐๐๐ ๐ฟ๐ค๐
by Eugene O'Neill
(๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐บ ๐๐ฆ๐จ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ, September 2014 - August 2023)
I, Adara's Legend of Aragon Von Eigger Haus (familiarly known to my family, friends, and acquaintances as Legend), because the burden of my years and infirmities is heavy upon me, and I realize the end of my life is near, do hereby share my last will and testament with my friend. I ask her to inscribe it as a memorial to me.
I have little in the way of material things to leave. Dogs are wiser than men. They do not set great store upon things. They do not waste their days hoarding property. They do not ruin their sleep worrying about how to keep the objects they have, and to obtain the objects they have not.
There is nothing of value I have to bequeath except my love and my faith.
These I leave to all those who have loved me, to my People, who I know will mourn me most, to my Breeder who handpicked my mother from across the sea then delivered me into this world with his own hands, to the People of my sire who adored me, to Ollie who begrudgingly helped raise me, to Rudy who was a friend to me, to Autumn who howled with me, to Skyler and Tessa and Erin and Marco and Sam and Karen and -- But if I should list all those who have loved me, it would force my friend to write a book.
Perhaps it is vain of me to boast when I am so near death, which returns all beasts and vanities to dust, but I have always been an extremely lovable dog.
I ask my People to remember me always, but not to grieve for me too long.
In my life I have tried to be a comfort to them in times of sorrow, and a reason for added joy in their happiness. It is painful for me to think that even in death I should cause them pain. Let them remember that while no dog has ever had a happier life (and this I owe to their love and care for me), now I have grown lame and tired, and life is taunting me with having over-lingered my welcome. It is time I said good-bye, before I become too sick a burden on myself and on those who love me. It will be sorrow to leave them, but not a sorrow to die.
Dogs do not fear death as men do. We accept it as part of life, not as something alien and terrible which destroys life. What may come after death, who knows?
I would like to believe that there is a Paradise where one is always young and full-bladdered; where all the day one dillies and dallies with a multitude of tennis balls, bouncing high; where squirrels run fast but not too fast, where each blissful hour is mealtime; where in long evenings there are a million fireplaces with logs forever burning, and one curls oneself up and blinks into the flames and nods and dreams, remembering the old brave days on earth, and the love of one's People.
I am afraid this is too much for even such a dog as I am to expect. But peace, at least, is certain. Peace and long rest for weary old heart and head and limbs, and eternal sleep in the earth I have loved so well and where I have received such love. Perhaps, after all, this is best.
One last request I earnestly make. I have heard my Person say, "When Legend dies I could never love another like him." Now I would ask her, for love of me, to love another. What I would like to feel is that, having once had me in the family, now she cannot live without a dog like me! I have never had a narrow jealous spirit.
I have always held that most dogs are good (and one cat, the black and white one I have permitted to share the living room rug during the evenings, whose affection I have tolerated in a kindly spirit, and in rare sentimental moods, even reciprocated a trifle). Some dogs, of course, are better than others.
Rottweilers, naturally, as everyone knows, are best, though any good dog will do. Another can hardly be as well bred or as well mannered or as distinguished and handsome as I was in my prime. My People must not ask the impossible. But they will do their best, I am sure, and even their inevitable defects will help by comparison to keep my memory green. To them I bequeath my collar and leash, worn and weathered after many a walk at my Person's side. They can never wear them with the distinction I did, walking around Shuping Mill, or later along Chestnut Avenue, all eyes fixed on me in admiration; but again I am sure they will do their utmost not to appear a mere gauche provincial dog. Here at home, they may prove themself quite worthy of comparison, in some respects. They will, I presume, come closer to the stray cats than I have been able to in recent years.
And for all their faults, I hereby wish them the happiness I know will be theirs in my old home.
Lately, as I drift to sleep, I have been visited by friends, informing me I will soon join them, but requesting I share their messages before I do. Sam and Angus the Rotts (neither able to hide their jealousy over my superior tail) are bursting with pride. It's okay that they failed protection training - you were brave enough to never need it. Chloe the Lab asked you to have a beer and chocolate cake for her (she says it'll taste best on a boat), a lumbering Bull Mastiff named Oscar encouraged you to rest - whenever and wherever you need, and Earthquake the Bouvier - he didn't have much to say, but lately he hasn't left my side, like he never left yours.
There are so many others - and angry Schnauzer named Shotzie, Tasha the mutt, a Spaniel named Happy, my small friend Butters, plump ponies named Cornbread and Ginger, and many others who say you never knew their name, but they'll always remember yours for the role you had in their lives. They ask me to leave their love, their pride, and their gratitude before I leave you.
My parents ask that you remind THEIR People that their love for them still carries on.
One last word of farewell, Dear People. Whenever you visit my grave, say to yourselves with regret but also with happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long happy life with you: "Here lies one who loved us and whom we loved". No matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you, and not all the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail.
