“To my beautiful Bella who left me too soon, who fought so hard to live, who did not know how to die, and who gave me the happiest moments in my life, and talked even more than I do!”
Bella, you were a unique, remarkable soul; your sense of fun and loving brought such pleasure to so many people
In life you were such a big character and in death even larger, a legend you have become in your own right
You died because of veterinary bad practice and no other reason, though many would have people believe otherwise
We had so many more memories to collect and so much fun to have, MEDIVET took that time from us
Your kind, gentle soul lives on in all of us that loved you so much and your spirit is alive in the world as a testimony for change
Life without you is desolate
My house without you is empty, lifeless
Your casket sits in my living room but you should not yet be there, it was not your time
My heart aches for you, I look for you everywhere
You were my companion, buddy and confidante: what happened to you shouldn’t have happened to a dog
God, please take care of my beautiful Bella Louise and keep her safe until the day we are once again together
Bella the Samoyed in white
Though you knew not of what hue you were born
nor of what parents you came,
like a child adopted you learn’d of a mother’s love,
and your mother is Jill by name.
As a pup, ye merried the hearts
of all who petted thee, then frolicked in parks
and walked proud amidst small Pekes and tall hounds.
Children, a-wond’rous did play and bejoyed
at thy gamble, while you meddled with toys,
yet likely as not, stray thought would carry thee off
to a bird, a squirrel, any will-o’-the-wisp.
What private musings once deliberated
in the now-wisely head
– having seen so much through
those kind brown eyes?
And did she not Bark up!
– A happy bark,
(perhaps to question:
I not delighte d thee by
coming up to greet?)
And more would I dearly partake,
of Bella’s nuzzle, soft brush-by, and imploring paw;
the enquiring EMa, and a lick from her tongue on
my salty palm.
Though grow old thee not: thee ne’er to grow old, nor grey.
Samoyed, the fulI moon shall not’mock, neither the stark
fot thy glory is, for-ever, in the Sun’s magnificent
whiteness on a cotton-wool cloud.
Stephen Clarke (August 2005)