I was heartbroken over the winter when our wooden dachshund sculpture finally bit the dust, metaphorically speaking. For my entire life, and even longer, it had served as the centerpiece of our front yard, a marker to all the cats and critters that march up and down the sidewalk in front of our house. Heather nursed the plywood dog along through many repairs and coats of black paint, until it finally succumbed to another wet Northwest winter, rotting down the center until it split beyond repair.
It’s hard to replace something that rare. Some highly emotional individuals need more time. So when Mike finally decided we were ready, he searched online and was surprised to find what looked like a suitable replacement. When it arrived (not via my favorite delivery service, by the way), Mike took it to the garage for weatherproofing while he studied every square inch of our extensive plot before deciding on the right spot. We installed it and held a dedication and ribbon-cutting ceremony last Sunday. My pal Charlie attended and took photos. I determined the new sculpture needed to be behind the wrought-iron fence for security purposes. I cannot be guarding it 24/7, after all.
After the ceremony, I immediately tried to replicate the stance and the stature of the heroic sculpture behind me, to little avail. If only I could summon at will that much gallantry and grace! Not now, certainly, but certainly something to aspire to every day.
After we paused for refreshments (biscuits for me, hard candy for Mike), we had a more solemn duty to perform. We marched across the street and laid to rest the broken original sculpture in our neighbor Claire’s yard waste bin, on top of a bed of spring trimmings and thatch. Mike played Dave Novak’s version of the song “Bugler” on his iPod and hummed along. Then we closed the lid and took a walk in the park.