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Bill Rubenstein letter

Bill Rubenstein letter

The following memory letter is from one of Leannes dog walking client. It will help to know what kind of person was the first wife of Walton, the woman he loved and married, when he was a canyon resident yet. The letter described her personal quality, her attitude to life, people, animals and work, and to some extends, difference between her and her ex-husband. When married couples have a lot of things in common, one life position, mutual goals and dreams, and the most important thing as deep felling to each other, they are trying to make their happy future together hand by hand. Unfortunately, their marriage hadnt a Hollywood happy end.

In Loving Memory of Leanne Goggins


Posted by Staff on Nov 13, 2005 - 11:00:00 PM
In Loving Memory of Leanne Goggins (1967 2004)
Rest your troubled mind now; youre in Gods hands.

This is a letter I would like to share to mark the one year anniversary of her death. It was given to her family by one of Leannes dog walking clients at the time of her passing.

Leanne loved dogs and dogs loved Leanne. The one place you didnt want to stand in our house was between our dog, Frida, and Leanne. If we hadnt adopted Frida we wouldnt have known Leanne. When I opened my heart to Frida, I had no idea what shed drag through that small crevice. Oh these things that grow out of the things that we give.

Leanne started walking dogs about the time we adopted Frida, though walking doesnt really describe what Leanne and Frida did together. They spent most afternoons together, some mornings, occasional sunsets. They ran. They swam. They drove around in the red Jeep. They hiked. God knows, they ate treats. They went to the beach and to pool parties and to the Laurel Canyon Store for coffees and on errands and to walk other dogs. James called Leanne Fridas teacher and we dubbed Frida the teachers pet. We liked to think she was Leannes favorite, but Leannes gift was that all of Leannes clients thought their dog was Leannes favorite. The dogs themselves didnt care, of course, it was enough for them to just be with Leanne. They piled into that red Jeep with the same reckless abandon they exhibited plowing into your heart.

To be in our house when the Jeep came up the street was a frightening experience. It would start with the mere perk of an ear, the lift of an eyebrow, just a suggestion that perhaps Fridad heard the Jeep. Could it be? A run to the window, ears fully engaged nowthen a leap and midair-turn maneuver, with toenails scattering across the wood floors rushing to the front door. And then the music would begin. Frida doesnt bark, but no other noise that her little 40 pound body could emit was spared. Whining, yelping, drooling, shaking, jumping, scratching all brought together in the crazy cacophony that marked the Jeeps arrival. Out would jump Beulah, bounding no other word for it, thats what Beulah does bounding up the walk and throwing herself against the outside of the front door, a thrust so full of excitement the door might well have given. But lo and behold at precisely the same moment Frida would furiously throw her petite self against the inside, an opposite if not equal reaction, their dueling excitement enabling the door to maintain its stability.

When Leanne unlatched the door, everyone kissed and licked and sniffed and jumped around for a few minutes I mean everyone and then little Frida would make a bee-line for that Jeep. Sometimes Leanne would drop by just to talk or drop something off, but that never stopped Frida from climbing right in the back of the Jeep. Once Leanne drove by our house on her way to another appointment and Frida, who was lounging in the yard, started chasing the Jeep up the street. Leanne had to slow down and let her jump in or Frida would have chased her clear into the next county.

At the end of each day, Leanne would leave us a written summary of the days events, sometimes with photographs of hikes or pool parties. But the notes themselves were invariable. To be sure, theyd include a report on Fridas bodily functions. Each day theres also be an anecdote though. A story. A re-telling of the afternoons highlights. Sometimes it was nothing more than: Fridas cuddled in my lap as Im writing this. Often it was a story about some dog following Frida around lovingly or a star sighting (Laurence Fishburne petted Frida today.) Imagine our pride. There was a comfort to these notes, the tone and steadiness of them. It reminded us each night when we got home that Frida had been in the presence of a whole lot of love, while we were out in the world toiling away.

I like to think that the gentle tone, the steadiness, and the warmth of Leannes communications reflected an inner peace she found with our Frida and with all of her dogs. Dogs live in the present. Perhaps when were with them they enable us to step out of time, as well, to stop ruminating about the past or worrying about the future. Perhaps this enabled Leanne to find a harmony she couldnt find in the rest of her life. The truth is, though, I dont claim to know why Leanne was at peace with her dogs nor why she couldnt find that harmony in the rest of her life. I dont know why Leanne loved dogs. I dont know why dogs loved Leanne. I dont know what will happen to Frida. I dont know where these things we meet and know briefly, as well as we can or they will let us, go. I only know that I didnt want Leanne to die.

Leanne loved dogs and dogs loved Leanne. James says a dogs love is uncomplicated. I say: so was Leannes. If human beings are acceptable evidence, mustnt what lies behind the world be at least as beautiful as Leanne?

Bill Rubenstein