Ronan wasn’t mine. He was my aunt Mary Pat’s. But I loved him as if he was my own. Ronan was born in 1990 and adopted by Mary Pat, my aunt when he was a baby. He grew with her. He was there when she got married. He was an important part in the lives of those closest to him. When his dog cousin Francis was adopted, found as a wretched, cold pup in the pouring rain, Ronan let him into his life so easily. He walked the neighborhood with his head high, but he was never arrogant. He was a loyal companion, a gentle soul, a proud American and a caring friend. When you talked to him he’d look at you with his trusting eyes, and you could know he was listening, even if he couldn’t reply.
When Ronan turned thirteen, his mom noticed he was walking oddly. At his check-up, the vet detected minor arthritis in his legs. He prescribed medicines, but they didn’t do anything, sadly. The arthritis scale went to severe and Ronan’s pain begun.
One day, as he was walking inside with Francis next to him, he yelped and collapsed. Francis knew something was wrong, because he fled into the house barking with all his might. Ronan’s mom and Francis’ mom came running down to find him lying on the drive. The vet said his arthritis was taking over him, and he’d need help walking anywhere. It was awful. But Ronan refused to back down. He lived every day as well as he could. He was a fighter. Since Francis was his best friend, Ronan’s mom told Francis’ that Ronan could stay at Francis’ house. So Ronan was transported to live his last days with his best friend.
One night, when the winds blew and the cold was felt, Ronan’s aunt came into the lounge with a blanket. She moved Ronan to the middle of the floor and wrapped a blanket around him. He looked calmly at her. Francis trotted in and sat next to him. They both looked peacefully at her. So she turned out the light and went to bed. Francis fell asleep, but Ronan took one long look around him. Then, he gave a long sigh and fell asleep.
When his aunt woke up and went down, she saw Francis on a stair, whining. “What’s wrong, boy?” she asked. Francis led her to Ronan’s sleeping place. She looked at his limp form, and when she saw he was completely still, she almost fainted. With trembling hands, she felt for Ronan’s heartbeat.
There was none.
Ronan had died.
He was buried in the pet cemetery, in the shade of an old tree. In his mom’s yard, a memorial stone was placed in the garden. Ronan, on Earth we miss you. We wish we could see you when your spirit stands by our bedside, trying to make us pet you. But one day, when our time is done, we will walk the Rainbow Bridge and see you standing, waiting for us. We will hug again and never be parted again. We love you, Ronan. And I believe we are still together in spirit, even though not in body.
Kisses up the Bridge,
| Ronan |
| Nov 2005 |
| Darby Joyce/ Mary Pat Guenther |