If I had to choose a word or phrase to describe Cindy Perez, it would be kind; she was a kind person with a loving spirit. We first met while writing tributes for our fallen warriors, on a Facebook page called Military Wall of Honor. Writing tributes for these beautiful young people, killed in war, was difficult; it placed a great weight upon the soul. Our tributes were carefully researched, with a desire to know the person who died in our service and a desire to make our readers know them. We sought with all our hearts to give honor to the fallen, and inspire within the hearts of our readers, some measure, some knowledge of the terrible price that had been paid. Cindy was faithful in her writing, and you could feel her love and mercy when you read her words.

While serving with Cindy as a writer, there were difficulties, the kind of difficulties that always arise when you put people together, and especially when it is doing such an emotionally draining task. During these times we talked often. Most of us vented our frustration, but Cindy rarely did, I cannot recall ever having her say or agree with a bad word about someone. She tried to find the good in them, and tried to show everyone else.

 The time came for my own son to deploy into harm’s way. Having written the tributes for so many, needless to say, I was afraid, I knew by my research and writing and the research and writing of my fellow tribute writers, the reality of war and what my son was stepping into. Cindy prayed faithfully for my son, and she encouraged me in every way she could. She helped me to get through the deployment and helped me along this path of learning to trust God.

 I regret not getting to know her better; I regret never having the opportunity to meet in person, to sit together over a cup of coffee and just chat.

 I do not grieve for her for I know where she now resides. My friend Cindy has finished her race and she has been welcomed home. For her there are no more sorrows, no more tears, no more cancer and she is with Him, and there truly is no better place for one to be. I envy her a bit, but my race is not yet over, so I will run on, and I will use all that she taught me to run it better, until one day my time will come, my race will be done and then we will have plenty of time to sit and chat and to get to know one another in person.

Thank you Cindy, for the love and the grace you freely handed out, thank you for the prayers you sent out, for me, for my son, for my family. Your family has been in my prayers that God will grant them all grace and peace and that they will know, as I know, that you are okay, you are more than okay. The Healing Rain has come.

Today (March 31st, 2013) around 5pm, Gunnar Griego, eater of bees, affectionately known as Gunny Roo Roo, Smeagol, the Wrymn, and lately The Old Man, passed from this life. He was almost 13 years old. He was the best of dogs.

 He passed in peace after spending some time with me, his person, and with one of his boys, and with hugs sent from afar from his other boy, and from his Dad. We played a little fetch, although he had to lay down and rest after only two throws, he had a little bit of chicken, although he really was not much hungry, and when the time came to go, he lay down upon the blanket and received more love from his person and his boy, we told him what a good boy he was, and how much we loved him, and how blessed we have been to have him in our lives. He closed his eyes and crossed over.

 Where To Bury A Dog

 There are various places within which a dog may be buried. We are thinking now of a Vizsla named Gunnar, whose coat was a flame in the sunshine, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This Vizsla will be buried beneath a sage brush, in his back yard, where he loved to hunt for lizards.

 Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any shrub of the garden, is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorous bone, or lifted head to challenge some strange intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else.

 For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppy hood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost -- if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.

 If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there.

 People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.

The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master.

 Gunnar Griego you will forever be buried in our hearts....rest in peace my good boy.

Original by Ben Hur Lampman, edited for Gunnar Griego