The boss lost one of her best friends last week, an old cowboy she had known for 40 years.
They had connected over shaggy cows long ago, and stayed friends through lively conversations about ranching, art, literature, weather, and more shaggy cows.
Even after time and moves changed daily or weekly visits into infrequent phone calls, they would pick up the conversation as if they’d just met over lunch the day before.
He loved her art and was her biggest fan and strongest encourager.
Their humor, passions and joy aligned. Sometimes family was just along for the ride.
She always knew a call may come someday, given his health problems and old age. But it was still sad, unexpected and far too soon.
It always is.
It is one of those times that bring up memories – time, goodbye and old friends –
so, I am revisiting past thoughts on my own old friends here:
If you live long enough, you may be blessed with a few old friends. And if you live long enough, you may have to say goodbye to old friends, too. That is the not-quite-right, heart-rending reality of this world, but don’t let it wound the memories the years have given.
Some friends in the jeep
You know, a cowdog has old friends. Because we are loyal to a fault, steadfast and devoted to those we call our own, we have a rock-solid bond that goes to the cellular level. Death doesn’t merely divide us, then, it splinters us and tears us apart!
Which is worse – for me to leave first, knowing I’m breaking my old cowboy’s heart for the first time, wondering if he can even go on without this cowdog by his side? Or for him to leave me, waiting at the gate, listening with weak ears for that truck to rumble down the road, that never will again? 
We have canine friends, too. When I first came here, I met Cobra and Piper.
They lived with the daughter Jessie and her husband – this was long before the baby Sprout showed up. Right away, I liked the big hound, but that hyper little Border Collie, Piper, was too much! He and I tangled a few times, two cowdogs who both refused to give ground or back down. Well, after some swift years, my friend Cobra trotted on, across what people call a Rainbow Bridge. I don’t know where that is, but I watched his sad family bury him up in our meadow, in a corner under the aspen, past the lilac hedge.
There he joined Ruger, the great Heeler who ramrodded this outfit before me, and the ashes of Derby and Aurora. I have helped mom plant flowers all over there,
and she has put stone markers there for each, too. Piper and I were friends by then and even worked together to run a few rank cows. 
Ruger
There is a corner of Dog Hill for cats, too, and I even miss them.
Tigger, Willow, Miss Kitty … there among the white roses and lilies. 
Where did all the time go? Now my friend Piper is up there, too; I feel old and tired, my legs ache when I climb the hill to visit them, and I don’t hear the wind in the aspen so well anymore.
Out in the orchard the horses are buried. I chased them once, playing tag in the pasture, sometimes trailing cows with them, keeping them from the gate a few times, too.
But I can’t be sad, when I can remember so many happy times with my friends! And we only have today. I was blessed to be rescued to this place, and to pour out relentless Heeler joy on everyone! I have no doubt there is a heaven and we will run and play there together someday. The God who wants the best for us will let us rejoin old friends, and He is keeping them there with Him until then.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” – Matthew 5:4
