(Dec. 18, 1986)
It's a week before Christmas and our dog, Corby, has died. Saying goodbye to him brings overwhelming grief, partly because his passing means the end of 30 plus years of keeping, showing and breeding dogs. Corby is the last pet who will ever share our home, and our lifestyle is about to change drastically. Since 1955, Ted and I, along with our dogs, have opened gifts together on Christmas day. This Christmas, there will be no gift under the tree for Corby to open. We need some time away, so tomorrow we leave for Pipestem Resort.
(Dec. 23, 1986, at Pipestem Resort)
Corby has been with us a few times at this resort, so we remember his presence everywhere. Yesterday, when we saw the sign, "Please keep pets on leash," in the picnic area, we laughed because it brought back memories of one time when Corby raised his leg and saluted it.
(10 a.m. Dec. 24, 1986)
We just finished breakfast in the lovely dining room and are packed to leave. We dread the thought of going home to an empty house, so we've decided to meander down Route 20, past Bluestone Lake, and take a look at downtown Hinton.
(11 am. Dec. 24, 1986)
We're stopped at a service station in Hinton to fill the gas tank. It is an unusually warm evening for December, so here I sit in the car with windows rolled down, waiting for Ted to pay the bill. I rest my elbow on the car door with my chin propped up on my hand. . . . Excuse me, I have to take a break . . . .