Beauchamp, Audrey Lynn Audrey was born Nov. 19, 1959 to Kenneth and LaVerne Beauchamp at Mather AFB in Sacramento, Calif. She passed away on Feb. 22, 2010 at home in Pocatello. She was 50 years old. She is survived by her brother, Steven Beauchamp of Clifton Park, N.Y., her stepmother Alice Beauchamp of Meridian, and her stepbrothers Doug and Mark Seeley of Boise. Audrey was a sensitive person who had a special place in her heart for disadvantaged and handicapped people. She worked here in Boise and in Pocatello helping the developmentally-disabled and elderly persons in nursing homes. She battled courageously against afflictions likes Crohn's disease and depression. Goodbye sweetheart, our words can't convey our anguish and grief, nor the depth of our loss. Here follows a letter she wrote following the death of a beloved pet. This letter truly captures the essence of who Audrey was. "The Love and Friendship of a Very Special Animal" The patterns of one's life are often captured and defined by the all-two-short life of a very special animal." I know this, all too well now for I've been remembering, analyzing and yes, crying after losing my 14-year-old dog, Yami, three long years ago. Yami had gotten pretty old and had led a very healthy, happy and fulfilling life. But in the last few years she lived, she had developed three respiratory infections. She barely had any eyesight left and they were cloudy with cataracts. The only hearing that she had left was reserved to only high-pitched tones. I had taught her the basic obedience commands while she was still a puppy, with the deterioration of her eyesight and hearing that accompanies old age, I found I had to communicate with her by using sign-language. I could call her to come to me by clapping my hands, to make her stay I let her feel my open palm against her nose, etc. When she caught this last infection, it really took its toll on her. After the doctor had stabilized her and her lungs were clear, she came home only briefly. She appeared to be giving up on life. She wouldn't eat and had to be carried outdoors so she could relieve herself. She just seemed to look up at me and say, "I've led a long and happy life and you've been a great Mom. But I am so tired now. I need to rest now." I knew it was only a matter of a week or even less before she would die, but I had always made a promise to her and myself that I would never let her suffer for my own selfish needs. So I discussed it with her doctor and we both agreed, it was time to put her to sleep. I held her in my arms to try to help soothe her fear as the doctor administered the euthanasia. As she leaned against my chest, she took her last breath of life, as she simply fell asleep in my arms. As her heart stopped beating, right against my own, I feared that mine would never be able to beat again. For it was her love that had kept mine beating for the last 14 years. My tears flowed unchecked, onto her motionless body that was held in my arms. We had always had dogs in my family, but Yami was the first that was mine, and mine alone. She was my 13-year-old birthday gift. As my 13th birthday approached, I kept asking and hoping from my father, for a motorcycle. When my special day arrived, my Dad took me out for a drive. We stopped at a home where, there in the garage, lived a litter of six-week-old cockapoo puppies. My heart instantly drew me to the runt, just a tiny white fur ball with a single black spot on the center of her head. It turned out that spot was oil that had dripped on her from sleeping under the car. I named her Yamaha. Yami for short. Yami was a delicate, intelligent, yet fussy animal who acted grown up, even as a puppy. Alone with me only, she was occasionally silly, but it was with the understanding that her unseemly behavior was our little secret. I could write a book about the wonder dog that was Yami. But of all the things that made me smile, it was the way she behaved when I was upset, that means the most to me now. Yami never liked to see me cry and with Yami around, I never cried for long. She'd put one of her paws on my knee, and shove her muzzle under my hand. If I ignored her, she'd grab that hand with her teeth, bearing down only slightly, and revving up to a full-throated growl. Oh, she sounded mighty tough, but her tail was wagging and her eyes were laughing up at me and soon I'd be smiling at the picture she made. The first night she was gone was one of the worst in my life, but it was that memory that got me through it. Through my tears, I could hear her growling and could feel her teeth on the back of my hand. I smiled as I always did, and realized then that she is still with me, and always will be. Audrey L. Beauchamp Published in Idaho Statesman on March 6, 2010