The One Thing That Lasts

Frieda passed away yesterday (June 11th, 2008), dying peacefully while I stroked her and whispered in her ear. What do you say to someone who's been by your side for over 16 years? Which words do you choose when you know they'll be the last ever heard?

I told her that I loved her. I asked her to wait for me on the other side. I encouraged her to go forward boldly, that the other dogs I have loved and lost in my life would be waiting to welcome her. I assured her that we'd be together again somehow, sometime - that love like ours is the most powerful force in the universe, it's the one thing that lasts.

Most of all, I thanked her. Frieda has spent more time with me than any other being in my adult life. She was there through sickness and in health, always ready to offer comfort and an enthusiastic tail wag. An intrepid travel companion, she ranged across the country with me, looking for adventure and new garbage cans.

Frieda also loved bicycling. In her younger years, she would balance her front feet on the handlebars, then later, she rode in my basket, ears sailing back in the wind. She found entertainment in small things - since she grew up in the French Quarter, a plastic "go cup" was always a favorite toy. She'd pounce on the hapless cup, shaking it with ferocity, tossing and batting it with glee.

She was named after the famous artist Frieda Kahlo, who was known for self portraits accenting her mustache and unibrow. Frieda's own mustache and eyebrows were strikingly similar. It was fitting that she be named after an artist: For most of her life, she worked daily in my art gallery as official greeter. She excelled at the job and took it quite seriously. Many regular customers came specifically just to see Frieda, shopping was a sidebar.

A terrier mix, we early on discovered her strange love of fruits and vegetables, so she became Frieda the Vegeterrier. Strawberries and tomatoes were big favorites, but the ultimate treat was a banana. She cheerfully gobbled one down the night before she died.

Below, you'll find some images of Frieda. I share them as a tribute to her extraordinary life and also as a reminder of the one thing that even death cannot harm: Unconditional love.

Frieda and Mardi Gras

Frieda reveled in costuming and was proud to march in the very first Barkus Mardi Gras parade for dogs in New Orleans. Here's Frieda dressed as a mummy...














and a triceratops....














and at a birthday party!













This is no costume, but it makes me laugh very hard seeing it. Frieda could not resist any container or bag that might have held a tasty morsel. Occasionally, she'd run into trouble.

Frieda and Friends

Frieda possessed the ability to see good in everyone (for years, she worked to teach me her technique, but I've never mastered her soul vision). Not only did she see good in everyone, she expected them to demonstrate that goodness (hopefully by petting her or sharing meals). She made no distinctions between CEOs or a homeless person living on the streets of the French Quarter - they were all greeted with an equal measure of graciousness and enthusiastic tail wags.

Here's Frieda with a few of her special friends...

Frieda running with my dad, Calvin Bennett

Frieda and Joe

Frieda snuggling with Tom

Frieda and Jean

Frieda and Paul, who has also passed on. Hopefully she's sitting on his lap as I write this.

Frieda and Valerie

Frieda and Jen

Frieda and Carol

Frieda and Lijah

Frieda and Ruth

Frieda on the Road

Even on the last day of her life, the words "let's go!" would electrify Frieda. Any mode of transportation thrilled her - cars, boats or bikes, she was always ready for a ride.

Dogs in Heaven

When I was in sixth grade, I adopted a stray collie mix I named Red Baron. He was a child of the wild and refused to be domesticated. We didn't have much time together, but my memories of our relationship can bring me to my knees in a heartbeat. He'd meet me on the walk home from school and we'd roam the woods as a pack of two.

One day, my parents met me instead of Red Baron. They gently explained he'd been hit by a car and killed. A dark pit of despair pulled me into it's vortex and I cried for days. Finally, I comforted myself by imagining Red Baron waiting for me in heaven. We'd be together again some day and nothing would ever come between us.

Then I found out that according to the Bible, dogs don't have souls. Their lives are supposedly transitory and when they're gone, they're gone for good. Aghast, I wondered how heaven could provide eternal bliss without dogs. Even as a twelve year old, I understood that a dogless heaven would be a dismal place.

Forty years later, I still believe that heaven by definition would welcome dogs and be inhabited by every creature we've attached ourselves to in this life, every living thing that has taught us the meaning of joy.

After-life will never be demystified. No one can offer proof of what lies beyond this life. In fact, no one knows what will happen on any given day. What is sure is that those of us who are lucky enough to share our lives with dogs are better people for it. What is certain is that love fortified with an absolute trust is the strongest force in this world. What I choose to believe is that love like that survives beyond this realm. And what I feel in my heart is that Frieda lives on and will be wagging her tail when we meet again.