Over the Rainbow Bridge

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge...

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food and water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable. All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.



The sign on her cage at the Humane Society read: "Black Lab Mix." We didn't plan to get a puppy that day. We were "just going to look." We saw her. We took her out. We played with her. We went to lunch.... We came back and got her that afternoon. Halle was meant to be ours, and though she certainly was NOT a Lab mix (we quickly realized we were duped on that one!), she was in fact a wonderful dog.

She was smart - often too smart. She was protective, though I'm sure she couldn't truly hurt a flea. She was watchful. She was sweet. She never snapped or snipped or barked in anger.


Halle was undoubtedly the "alpha dog" in our house. Jules never quite figured out that she weighed twice as much and could have simply sat on Halle to win dominance. Their roles were set in stone. Halle was the first in, first out, first to eat. Jules happily wagged her tail behind.

When petting Halle she would rest her paws on top of your arm, leg or hand - almost as if saying "Yes, I pretend that you as human are truly the alpha animal, but just so we're clear, it's a game I'm playing, and you really aren't where you think you are on the totem pole." Move your hand on top, and she was quick to correct you with her own.



I wish I had a puppy picture to share, but 13 1/2 years ago we didn't have digital cameras! She was an adorable little fuzzball. Even more than a picture I wish I had video of her puppy "butt-tucking" days. When she was a puppy she would race around our house on Tanglewood with such speed that we had to pull our feet up onto the couch and just laugh. She looked like a black streak shooting through the room!

Halle Girl was our family's original runner - well before Bill got the bug, Halle had it. Open the door just a crack, and she was through it. Blink and she was five houses up, out of reach and exploring the world. In the earlier years I would freak out, get in the car and go searching for her. Then I realized that just as consistently as she ran, she always came home. Her sense of direction was impeccable (though we often worried that if Jules followed, Jules might get lost at sea!)


Halle loved to run. She needed to run. One hot summer day she came home limping when she ran on the streets and burned the soles of her paws. It didn't stop her. Next time the door opened a crack, she was through it.

I remember a day when Brady was a toddler, and Halle lie sleeping on the floor. Brady waddled over and fell on top of her back, startling her awake. Her dog instinct had her whip her head around, ready to protect herself. In a flash she saw Brady's little face, zipped her mouth, lowered her head and submitted to his weight. I knew at that instant that she would love my boys as I do, protect them best she could and herd them when necessary.

We would often joke that Halle was mine and Jules was Bill's ... though we adopted them together and they both held our hearts. Halle slept next to me. She followed me endlessly around the house. Her eyes seemed to always be on me.


Today I miss her presence in every room and beside my bed. I know she runs in the grasses and delights in the hills on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge. Maybe she even has the vigor again to butt-tuck through the meadows, delighting God as she did Bill and me so long ago.


We love you sweet Halle Bear, and we'll see you again one day. Until then, may the meadows always stretch open wide for you.