You have the companionship of the characters. You experience what they live and what they do. You hear the words they speak and you know what they think, as well. A paragraph can transport you to another land. A foreign country. Another time. Another world.

In the space of a page you may laugh and cry. Experience fright and anger. Awaken to surprise and astonishment. You may even fall asleep and dream about the last passage you read. Your mind journeys past that and you create your own scene.

And should you miss something, you can go back and read it again. The conversations and images don't change as time slips by. The homes and vistas do not fade. They stay true to the author's pen. From the most painful to the most wondrous; every emotion is bared to your eye, conveyed to your mind and experienced by your heart.

Fragrances are inhaled. Textures are felt. Sunshine can seem blinding. And darkness, overwhelming--all as your eyes scan the page. You may never meet the author, but the author's presence is undeniable; the whisper at your ear, the breath on the back of your neck, the laughter caught in a breeze, a spectral voice adrift from long ago.

I am an author and I'm writing, in part, to myself, as there is much I do not want to miss or forget. And there are many enchanting, glorious moments I want never to fade, but grow only brighter.

Part of my heart died and was taken away October 10th! Such separation I never figured would be bearable, and I was right, for I cannot bear it "in the now." It is a new ache that seems fathomless, both in its pain and in its endurance.

She was my friend and family. I wanted her to live forever and it seemed that she would; so indomitable was her spirit. When she was a babe, she was very ill. I nursed her along and all the while she had a ready smile and a happy heart. At the age of 7?? years she had an accident that left her paralyzed from the waist down. It was suggested that I let her "pass on." However, her love for me and mine for her would not allow it. And after several weeks of tears and hope, pain and prayers, she regained most of the use of her legs. She had a fierce drive to thrive, if for nothing else, to live so she could continue to be at my side, through all the good and bad the years and circumstances toss at us. Her devotion and loyalty to me were unwavering.

I learned more about the human condition through my relationship with her, than with any other. Her life force and her heart were like beacons. And the light she radiated unveiled the best and the worst attributes of my humanity. She helped me rise above my baser self; enriching my life as I strove to be more like the loving being her spirit exemplified.

I can??™t accept that my eyes cannot see her, that my ears cannot hear her, that my hands cannot gently touch her. Or, that my arms cannot lift her up so that I may nuzzle her ear and tell her how deeply I love her. I cannot reconcile these things for she is there, in my mind, residing in my heart, warming my spirit, and touching my soul. She is so much a presence within me that surely she cannot be absent from my tactile world. Can it be I will never hear her sigh, or hear her breath in sleep? Or look into her eyes, always brimming with love for me. The soft shuffle of her feet at my side as we walk??¦no more. Gone, is the bright and happy little girl who loved me beyond any human capacity to do the same. She was my family, companion, and friend.

I want so to see her ever-wagging tail. And to hear her tail happily thumping on the floor, just behind the front door when I arrive home from work. Each time I heard it, I knew she was smiling. Eager to see me.

My dear Snuffy??¦ Do you hear a thumping? It is my heart reaching out to you. Eager to see you. Someday the door will open, and when it does and I see you I will do the things I ache to do now and cannot. I look forward to hearing your tail wagging happily as I draw open the door. And the door will remain open, left behind, as we journey onward, ever together.

I dedicate this to Snuffy, the Basset-Beagle mix who not only shared her love with me, but gave it all to me.

Snuffy is the dog I wrote about in "Don't Give Up On Me," under the pen name of Stehvin Walker.

Oh, how I am going to miss you, my dear, furry friend!

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"God fashioned the dog from sun drops." --kah

"A Golden is sunlight wrapped in fur." --kah

My websites:
http://www.spirit-soul.com/BeyondTheBridge.html
http://spirit-soul.com/ToShareWithYou.html
http://people.delphiforums.com/melder7/SeasonalTalesAndTailsToo.html
http://mistdrifter.tripod.com/
http://home.earthlink.net/~bluebelliedlizard/shadowmind.html

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I live in central, sunny California, where I share my life with my husband and our furry family. I work full time for a living, and I write in order to live fully. My works have been featured in 2TheHeart, StoryTime Tapestry, Starfish, Driftwood, CatTails, Petwarmers, Heartwarmers, Insight of the Day*, Moments of Reflections, Gwen's Place Newsletter, Women with Heart, and Eternal Ink. I am also a weekly columnist for the publication "Frank Talk" which is distributed in three counties in Michigan, USA.

May your day be blessed

Bob Johnston