Connor and Olivia came to live at my place not long after their parents had passed. This was just after the Vietnam War and all the bad times that came with it. I don’t think they were full-blood brother and sister as they were from different families, but you knew they were some kind of siblings. They fought, argued, played and loved each other, that was easy to see. They had each other’s back and were inseparable.
I really couldn’t say where they had spent their early years, they didn’t seem to remember the past. When the placement lady came to see me about the pair there was no way I could say no. These two didn’t have anyone or anywhere else to go. True, I was tired of living alone, loneliness is everything it is cracked up to be. With some hope in my heart, and some trepidation, they came to stay at my house.
It would take time and patience, adjustments, and alterations on all of our parts to make this work, but make it work it did. We had our ups and downs and some moments of disappointment, but all in all, we ended up a pretty good team.
The years passed like wind in the trees, the joy they gave me was endless. To be honest, just their presence gave me a reason to live, and in some ways, they saved me.
Then things started going south. Conner got sick and was gone in a couple of days. I thought Olivia would die of a broken heart. She continued on for a couple of years, never quite the same. One morning when she didn’t come down for breakfast, I went to check on her and found her in bed, cold and motionless. I felt that my world had be taken from me. Unimaginable grief smothered me.
I buried them both. Now side by side, they rest up the hill from a little glade and an old, covered bridge. Connor’s stone reads, “Connor, the good dog” and hers, slightly smaller as she was a teacup Pom says, “Olivia, the good dog, too.”
Wolf Grulkey