Stephen Huneck's art

For those of you who don't know this man's wonderful artwork, I've put some photos I took while at the dog chapel behind the cut. He was amazing. His art was whimsical. It was sweet. It made a lot of people smile and his loss is a huge one. I received more information and it saddens me even more.

It is with great sadness that I share with you the news of the death of my Husband , Stephen Huneck, Thursday January 8th. Tragically Stephen took his own life. Stephen had been despondent for some time now and was being treated for depression.

Like many Americans we had been adversely affected by the economic downturn. Stephen feared losing Dog Mountain and our home.

Then on Tuesday we had to lay off most of our employees. This hurt Stephen deeply. He cared about them and felt responsible for their welfare. I could see how devastated he felt and tried to reassure him that the most important thing to me was that we were together. I told him how much I loved him, that he had accomplished so much in his life he should feel proud not ashamed.

I said how, I was constantly being told by visitors to Dog Mountain how much they loved his artwork. They also told me how meaningful the Dog Chapel was to them and how grateful they are that Stephen had created it.

Stephen and I discussed his feelings of despair and he said he would be seeing his psychiatrist the next day and would talk it over with her. He seemed to be looking forward to his session. He got up early Thursday morning to go see her. Stephen drove to the doctor’s parking lot and while parked in his car, shot himself in the head.

I wished I could of reached him some how. Stephen gave so much love and joy to the world through his warmth and openness as a person and a great artist. I hope he will be remembered as that joyous soul.

One the last page of the “Dog Chapel” book Stephen wrote “you too can build a chapel, in a place that’s always open in your heart.”

Please remember Stephen in your hearts.

Yours truly,
Gwen Huneck

( Pics )

It really was a wonderful place. I can't describe how happy we were there.

30 Days Meme: Day 23 (a youtube video)

I had a couple videos planned for this today, but recent news has made me alter which youtube videos I'm going to post.

The first is one I just found about the Dog Chapel and features Stephen Huneck talking about the chapel and his artwork.

The second one is one I've posted before but seriously, if you haven't seen this amazing video (and you're a dog person), you NEED to.

Dahlia says "I miss my Daddy!"

David is out for the night at a rehearsal (that, sadly, I'm supposed to be at too but I'm sick with a nasty cold!). So it's a girl's night on the couch watching Law & Order: SVU.

Night time walk

We bounded out of the apartment tonight. Me with happiness over going for a walk with my dog; Dahlia with a big grin at the sight and smell of more snow. We rushed down the steps as we often do. You see, walks are fun. Dahlia gets to race through the snow, stopping to sniff when she wants to and then rushing to catch up to me or racing ahead to find the next bit of interesting snow to stick her snout in.

And me? I get to laugh with pure joy at watching her. She makes me happy. Walks with her make me happy.

When we got down off the porch I saw my next door neighbor coming up the sidewalk with her German Shepherd, Krieger. "Stop," I said to Dahlia. She froze in place. Even her big doggy grin froze in place. I came up next to her and asked her to wait. We waited.

My next door neighbor has her dog on a choke chain or a prong collar. I can't recall which, but it ultimately doesn't matter. They serve the same purpose. Krieger stepped slightly away from her and toward us. She jerked him with the leash. Not instantly. But a few seconds after he moved.

He whined.

She jerked him again and turned to walk in the opposite direction, again jerking him when he didn't follow her.

Dahlia and I stood frozen to the spot for a moment and watched them walk off. Each time he moved away from her, she jerked him with it. And he whined. We would hear his whine from several houses down.

Finally, when they were far enough away, I released Dahlia. She immediately headed in the direction Krieger had gone.

I didn't want to go in that direction. I called to her. "Dahlia, wrong way!"

She turned on a dime and rushed back to me and then past me, sticking her face into the snow as she went.

And then we started the race down the path. Dahlia pausing to sniff, me calling excitedly to her and watching her race with joy to me.

The grin had returned.

As had mine.

Walks are a joyous time for Dahlia and I. We race along snow covered sidewalks. We trudge through snow-choked fields 2 or more feet deep. I let her off leash in the park to play the "wait/come" game and to play fetch with a snow-covered tennis ball. We jump and play. We meet other dogs and she plays.

I walk along with a smile on my face that matches Dahlia's. Walks are her time, but they're also for me. It's my time to watch my dog be a dog, my time to watch her enjoy herself.

Krieger doesn't have that joy. He moves with much anxiety, his back legs bunched up awkwardly as he moves down the sidewalk. My neighbor once told me that she's working "very hard" on his training. She walks with a scowl on her face and is continually fighting her dog. It's a war of wills. She's been told she has to be alpha. She believes it. And so it's a constant fight between her and her dog. She MUST win, you see. Or else he will control all.

I believe Dahlia and I are companions, that I take care of her, that we are partners in our joyous walks together. Training is fun. It should be fun. When it becomes not fun it's over.

We returned to the apartment the same way we left it, with smiles on our faces. Dahlia raced up the porch and into the house. I followed slightly behind, shutting the doors and turning off the lights.

My neighbor is still out with her dog, still struggling with him somewhere on her walk. It's not his. Never his.

Dahlia and I are happy and content inside after our lovely, companionable walk.

I like it that way.