29 May 2023
There are no words, even for a writer, to adequately and accurately address the life of Chance Beaumont. I feel equally inept at speaking of his passing away on 27 May.
From this past March until April, the treatment for an infection of his right front paw was effective; however, less than two weeks ago, the infection recurred. Last week, an extremely aggressive, incurable malignancy was discovered. Within a matter of days, we made the rather brief journey toward the jolting finality caused by a genetic disease.
Chance carried on as his usual brave, calm, playful, devoted self to the end of his time on this earth. The supreme grace of his selfless love guided us toward the valor and benevolence that he deserved. This beagle was still relatively young. He would have been seven this coming July 2; ergo, the alarming rate of advancement of a terminal illness.
His gentle, steadfast, tenacious, whimsical spirit has now joined those of Bootsie, the other Yankee Doodle Dandy dog; Bridget, and Bonnie.
Chance was like a spectacular shooting star that wondrously, and unexpectedly, came into my life, and that of Dear Husband. He was — and is — a chance for me to enjoy life with splendour, and to leave behind sorrow and regret. For such a wondrous gift, I am eternally grateful. Born in Missouri, the Show-Me State, my Chance showed me how to live in the moment.
I am deeply thankful for every moment that I shared with this beagle. He reminded me to take chances, once again. He helped me to feel, and to experience — not merely to opine about — the simple joys of play; the delight in revelry; the fine art of frivolity; the sublime sensation of spontaneity; and the vital importance of having a lark. It was largely because of Chance that I named my new house, the dream house, Larkhaven.
He brought music back into my life.
He imparted to me the can-do indefatigable attitude that I’d begun to lose along the way to tomorrow.
He led by example; and his example was a plucky steadfast devotion to me, right from the minute I saw him, and he saw me. He glanced up at me with a pitiful look, and I somewhat laughingly said, “Oh, you miss your brother!”
His pack brother was Owen, who was going to another buyer. “Fletcher” then came to us, and instantly became “Chance Beaumont”. He brought me a few pieces of his geometric-shaped kibble, which looked like toy food. He wanted me to play with it!
For Chance, sharing was caring!
When a hound, so full of love, comes to you, and you love him in return, that glorious bond becomes a source of strength and courage. From that strength and courage, serenity can be found.
Chance Beaumont was adorably handsome, irrepressibly intense, inquisitive, affectionate, engaging, playful, charming, patient, courageous, strong, tolerant, exuberant, extremely loving, loyal, and sweet, with a rascally streak that only increased his captivating allure to everyone. All this hound ever asked was to be with me, and to hear my voice, which soothed him; and to be with his master, tracking the scent trail for something new.
And so his spirit is now with me and my voice, and with his master, tracking the scent trail to something new. There was always something magical about this beagle. That magic still touches our hearts.
Rest in peace, my bonne and brave Chance. You are, as always, an inspiration to me, for oh so many things.