A Dedication to Fern

Fern Markel Wedge
Fern Markel Wedge, my sister Jeanne's dog, died peacefully today in Orient, New York. She was 12. Fern, a Labrador, was lovable and sweet and compassionate and empathetic.

Fern loved to take long walks on the beach in Orient. Jeanne would sometimes throw a stick in the water, and Fern would happily splash into the bay to retrieve it. She loved to take dips in the water and swim with you. She would wend her way along the sand with the sea grass swaying near the marsh and daintily walk on the pebbles at the shoreline at low tide.

Fern notoriously had a mind of her own and, on walks, she would dictate which direction she wanted to go and make it hard for an unseasoned dog walker, like her Aunt Carol, to get her home again.

Fern's sweet face and soulful eyes.

Fern had a job. Jeanne trained her to go to the end of the driveway and get the paper. Jeanne would say, "go on, pup," and after a few looks back, Fern would trot down the hill and pick up the paper. You could not watch her do this because she would not go if you did. She would bring the paper in the house and drop it near her food bowl. Fern's salary was paid in biscuits. If you put both hands behind your back with the biscuit in one hand, Fern would lift a paw and choose the correct hand.

Fern's favorite section of the Times was Sunday Styles.

Everyone in the Markel Wedge family loved Fern. I loved her too, and she loved me. When I visited Jeanne's house, Jeanne would tell her, "Carol is coming." Fern would go to the door to see if I was there. The last time I saw Fern was a few weeks ago in Orient. Fern was up in studio when I arrived. My nephew, Jack, told Fern that I was there, and she came bounding out to find me. She was ill then.

When we were all sitting at Jeanne's long dining table, Fern would lie under the table. Sometimes she made the rounds of people at the table. You would feel a soft touch and took down, and see Fern's face on your lap looking up at you. Then you told her that you loved her.

Au revoir, my dear one.