Nine years ago, this evening, as Josh and I were unloading the van following an unseasonably warm day of sheer fun with dining, shopping, and Bill’s Donuts, Navi and Chief escaped the propped-open front door and bolted toward the high school with Josh and me in pursuit.

I saw one of the dogs cross a very busy Shroyer Road and heard two thumps as the van driver continued without stopping. I reached the limp body to find Navi unconscious. By this time, Josh had retrieved Chief and joined me in the last few steps toward the house. While laying on the front porch, Navi revived, acting stunned, appeared to be fine and we could only locate a rug-burn spot on her inner thigh. We took her to the emergency vet and following X-rays and further examination, we were told Navi’s internal injuries were severe and she could not recover.

Josh and I returned home to retrieve Chief who we found in a kitchen corner, crying and howling. His tears stirred both Joshua and myself.

Back at the emergency vet, they brought Navi into the room, wiggling and excited to see us, but the wrapped syringe on her leg told the rest of the story. We all lay on the floor spending time with her until her breathing became labored and the internal injuries became apparent. Josh summoned the veterinarian. I held Navi in my arms as she continued giving me kisses. The procedure began and the kisses began to fade. Three-year-old Navi laid her head on my shoulder and went to sleep.

The previous July, my thirteen-year-old Flyer passed away. That evening, Chief, Navi, Joshua, and I went for a walk and passed the Fairmont High School stadium where a drum-bugle corps was rehearsing to a vast crowd of fans. They concluded their program with Rodgers & Hammerstein’s poignant and majestic, “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”

After Navi passed, we stepped back out into the warm weather as a thunderstorm raged.  I found myself sitting on the curb, sobbing with Chief and Josh seated next to me.  Several people from the waiting room recognized what was happening, and came out to hold umbrellas over us.  When I finally rose to leave, I thanked them.  The one gentleman put his arm around me, and said, “You’ll never walk alone.  Our little pals are always with us.”

The following morning, Chief and I embarked on our first walk with just the two of us.  It was a painful, tear-filled walk.  When I returned home, I noticed a post beneath that morning’s walk, from my friend, Alice Kay Hoover.  It simply read, “Walk on.”  My friend, Andrea Norrington, posted a YouTube video of The Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing, “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”

A student’s mom penned a poem for her little furry friend, Navi, and I still find it touching, nine years later.

“If Navi Could Speak” by Missy Hoskins

If Navi could speak, I wonder what she would say?
Maybe, “How are you doing on this nice, fine day?”
She would say “Oh, how I loved all the flowers and trees.
And walking next to my friend with pants up to his knees.”
She would say, “I see Flyer and my kitty cat friend too.
There’s a young man here and he kind of looks like you.”
She would say “This place glistens of gold like the coming of dawn.
There’s a special bridge here that I keep my eye on.”
She would say how she misses you and wishes you were near.
“But, for now, I will stay and wait for you here.”

Four days later, late Christmas night, I was near Mason, Ohio retrieving two eight-week-old sisters, the soon-to-be infamous Bailey and Harrigan. The somber and lethargic Chief had a reason to find his energy, once more, and became the best big brother, ever protective of his two tiny charges.

But, on this ninth anniversary, the spirit of Navi still resonates throughout The Haasienda, and she is still loved as dearly as the others who are encamped at the entrance to Rainbow Bridge.

Make it a great day, always remembering you’ll never walk alone…