It was one of those mornings (or afternoon or evening, I don't really remember now) which was quite idyllic. It was just my husband, myself and our dog, B. We had lost our other dog, M, some time ago. It felt a little odd, a little lonesome, perhaps. And we knew that B was probably missing M, his constant companion of twelve years, almost always by his side, day in, day out.
My husband asked me to tell B a story. And so I did. And this is the story of Boomer the Baby Butterfly. The details may have changed a little since I originally told the story (which is to be expectd if one had written down the story right away instead of leaving it to memory) but the story is easy to remember because it's simple, child-like and from the heart.
Once upon a time, there was a baby butterfly by the name of Boomer. And his best friend was a big dog named B. They went everywhere together for they were the best of friends and watched out for one another. B was a big dog but he was also a gentle dog.
One day, a man with a net came chasing after Boomer the baby butterfly, wanting to capture him. Boomer flew away as fast as he could to get away from the man with the net. B had wandered off a little ways away and hadn't seen what was happening until it was too late. Boomer the baby butterfly was finally caught in the net. There was no escape. What was B to do? He knew he had to help his friend.
So B, with all the strength that he could muster, barked ferociously at the man with the net. The man was quite elderly and tried to get away from the big, barking dog. In his haste, he let go of the net and Boomer the baby butterfly managed to escape. Free at last!
But because the man was elderly, the shock of being barked at by a big dog was so great that he collapsed of a heart attack. And then he died.
Both B and Boomer were sad when the man died. They really didn't mean for the man to come to any harm. B just wanted him to release Boomer.
So they prayed to God and asked Him to bring the man back to life. They knew that if anyone could do it, God could. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to ask of God but that was what they did. And God smiled when He saw their innocence and heard their sincere plea. So God raised the man to life. The man got up, apologised to both Boomer the baby butterly and B, telling them that he would never try and capture butterflies again, and went on his way, never to bother them ever again. Both B and Boomer the baby butterfly thanked God and all was well once more.
The End.
B is now buried in the ground, as is M. That story was told especially for him. And now I must write it down so that I can remember it more clearly with the passage of time.
Broken hearts do mend, that is true, even though there are times when it would seem almost impossible to do so.
After M was gone, we had B all to ourselves. He, too, was old and grey. But oh, what a dog. What a faithful friend. When we were out in the backyard and he was by my side, a sound alerted the both of us. I looked down at him, and at the same time, he looked up at me. And we both turned our heads to where the sound had come from. A moment to treasure, and I was aware of it even then. A moment shared -- a bond -- and I even questioned soon after it happened, "Did it happen for a reason?" Such memories make me smile and ache at the same time.
What a big heart he had. A little more than a year after M's passing, it was his time to go. It is never easy, is it, Father?
My "boys" are gone now. Yes, M included as I would collectively call out to them, "Boys!" and they would both come running, shoulder to shoulder.
A wonderful sight to behold.
Maybe I am a weaver of tales, able to conjure up a story on the spur of the moment, however simplistic or nonsensical it may sound. I just hope that B enjoyed hearing the strange tale of Boomer the baby butterfly. I know that I enjoyed telling it. I miss my dogs, Father, I miss them very much. I miss my friends, my "boys". It will be quite odd for a while without them. But life was made all the richer because of them.
