I think the reason why I've had such trouble getting this post done is because I get caught up in the sadness of the story. I had heard about Dog Mountain, vaguely, ages ago but it wasn't until three months ago that I heard the whole story. I was driving to the grocery store, listening to All Things Considered on NPR, and I heard them mention Vermont. So I started paying attention. I ended up sitting in the parking lot of Price Chopper, crying my eyes out. Please take twelve minutes and follow this link and listen to the story. Don't read it - listen to it. I'll wait here.
There was no dog party happening on the Saturday we went, but there were dogs running around. One was some kind of doodle named Walter and other people who drove up brought their dogs. Roxie would love it. I will make another trip in October and take her - she may not appreciate the gorgeous view or the chapel, but she will love to run around and make new friends.
Everything in the gallery was Stephen's artwork. Everything. Including the sink in the bathroom, which I should have photographed because the faucet was shaped like a dog - the water came out of his mouth when you pulled his tail.
(UPDATE: Here's an action shot Ann took of the faucet. The bathroom was very popular. Note the paper towel holder and the backsplash.)
Then we went into the chapel.
Unbelievably powerful. Those are all notes and pictures people have left honoring their pets. Thousands of them. Some people even left boxes with ashes. It was crazy crazy beautiful and sad and inspiring. Kathy put up a note for Spunky, Schroeder and Reuben. Abby and I put notes for Zack and Ubu.
There need to be more Dog Mountains and Dog Chapels in the world. There just do.