The Last Magic Carpet Ride

Schooner in his Magic Carpet

It could only be to one place. Our usual haunt at Books-a-Million, where Schooner hung out happily in his truck while we – or, as it’s been reduced to in this new life – I would indulge in a good book and a latte. Extra hot, extra cup of foam on the side. This was our ritual.

Bill sharing the spoils of a Magic Carpet ride

For years it was the three of us. Our little escape. Schooner and I kept it going these past two years. He always eager to be boosted up into his magic carpet.

Fun on the Wanderin' Star

Oh, the places it had taken him! Sailing, camping, swimming, visiting dog friends, feeding the horses, church, collecting firewood, shopping, cappuccinos, every trip a new adventure.

Camping at Big South Fork

As the truck rumbled down the road, King Schooner always barked excitedly, standing legs apart, perfectly balanced, flag tail blowing in the breeze, golden furry pantaloons flying.

Neighborhood dogs emerged from every house, insanely jealous and driven to frenzy. Occasionally Schooner would snap at overhanging branches. It was a fine game.

This last magic carpet ride was a touch subdued. Schooner stood for a while, but soon subsided in a heap, breathing in all the great night scents from a reclining position that was easier on his arthritic hips. I handed him the usual dog treats while I went into the book store for my latte. It was late, nearly closing time. In fact, they had already cleaned up the cappuccino machine for the night. But in deference to a regular customer, they obliged with my favorite caffeine fix.

Funny how those memorable occasions just don’t work out in the perfect way we think they should. I tipped generously for their trouble, and, feeling guilty for leaving Schooner out in the truck alone, I decided to share our last night together. Took my coffee and sat in the bed of the truck with my companion for a seeming lifetime. Schooner was a bit puzzled at the attention. If I returned to the truck, it must mean we were ready to leave! What was I doing sitting up there with him?? And then, wouldn’t you know it, while reaching for something out of my purse, I knocked the coffee over, and now sat in a warm, wet puddle, while my barely tasted latte soaked my shorts and dribbled out of the truck bed onto the ground. So much for those final memories. I gave up, and we drove home for the last time.

Now it’s just over a week later. They gave me Schooner's ashes at the clinic a few days ago. They still sit on the kitchen table in the black gift bag, the wooden box wrapped in paw-printed tissue paper buried inside. Is that supposed to be Schooner? It's all rather odd, and my mind hasn't quite accepted that dramatic transformation. I'm sure I'll walk outside soon and find him lying contentedly on the back deck.

My gentle spirit, so full of love, those adoring brown eyes and soft golden fur. The sweetest companion, ready for anything, or content to simply lie close by. My last special connection with Bill. He was always a Daddy’s boy, and I regret I have not been as attentive as Bill always was.

A thousand memories scroll by. I remember the day we brought him home. Schooner was a rescue dog, and had spent the first year and a half of his life tied to a post. I can still see him running the hills in our woods, exhilarated in his new-found freedom. Boat days were his absolute favorite. While we cleaned the Wanderin’ Star, he would leap off the dock retrieving sticks, sometimes swimming way out into the middle of the lake, startling the Canadian geese. Then he would blow dry on the way home, always stopping for a cappuccino, where shoppers would stop to pet him in the back of the truck.

Snow dog

Often I would find him sleeping on the floor beside Bill napping on the sofa. Funny moments – vacuuming up sawdust from the kitchen floor while Bill constructed my desk; licking up champagne that had overflowed on to the carpet. Happiest when his truck was being used for some important job. Schooner lived life to the full - every moment of his 16 years. He was a true Fergusson. Youthful, exuberant, loving, with an insatiable zest for life.

The hands of time advance imperceptibly, and the chimes that mark the moments often catch us by surprise. Just too many goodbyes in recent days.

Sprinkling Bill's ashes

Tonight a romantic crescent moon slips below the horizon in another hot August night. From the perfect family of two people, two dogs and two cats, we are now down to one person and one cat. Hanging on by a thread. The champagne cork shoots high into the darkness, and lands with a thud on the deck, bouncing twice. Bill and I declared we would always celebrate life, no matter what. Even in the loss and sadness, the life of those we have loved continues on.

So here’s to you, Schoon, and To Whatever Comes Next. For all the memories, for all the love and joy and adventures we shared. For all those magic carpet rides. I will miss you, my friend.