On Monday, I drove to Limoges and the giant cemetary there for the funeral of a Scottish lady who had fostered dogs for Phoenix for many years. I have known her since 2013 when I delivered my first one to her and until the last one of dozens, 4 years ago.
Her name is Yvonne Anderson and she lived alone in a little house in the south of Haute Vienne. When the few of us gathered around the grave as she was lowered in, there was no religeous ceremony but Tiffany, the current Presidente of Phoenix, read out a poem that Yvonne had written about her passion in life
It is not going to qualify for any award, its form is distinctly amateur, but it does sum up what many of us feel.
Why do I do what I do
I’m often asked one question,
And that is “why do I do what I do”
Well for me its very simple,
Its the joy that I get seeing it through.
Sometimes its easy and sometimes its hard,
The training we give is to help you survive.
You came here with problems that no one will know,
So we start very simply and go with the flow.
I hope you have learned a thing or two here,
you were a pleasure to work with and care for my dear,
It is now your time for the world to see,
How endearing you are with a plea from me.
You will change someones life, for that I am sure,
As everyone knows a dogs love is pure.
I’m not going to tell you its easy,
when the time comes to say goodbye,
For experience has taught me one thing,
And that is, I always cry.
So your adoption is now underway
and your four legged friend leaves your side,
He struts out the door at a pace,
maybe a backward glance he will hide.
You close your door, its now time to wait,
28 days since he left through that gate,
The waiting is over and the adoptions complete,
another arrived and is sitting at your feet.
So now I will start all over again,
continuing my work with my four legged friends.
Each one of you who, came through my door
Is remembered with love, forever more.
Your paw print has left its mark on my soul.
And because of you,
I will continue to foster forever more.
A Daisy Poem