Everyone should be lucky enough to have an Aunt Dogie in their family. “There’s my Dogie,” her husband, my Uncle George, affectionately quipped to my aunt early in their marriage, inspired by the feistiness of the small calves in their home state, Texas. The nickname stuck.

Aunt Dogie (pronounced Ain’t Doe gē) had a career as a kindergarten teacher and knew how to talk to, and more importantly, to listen to youngsters. On a visit to her, when I was in the second grade, I was astounded how she would stop and look at me directly, ask me a question, then listen to my reply. She would conclude the exchange with a positive comment, “Well isn’t that something!” Wow, how I felt valued.

Our visit had been on our way to Dad’s new duty station in Germany. Shortly after arriving there, I received a letter from her. Mail addressed to me! I no longer remember the contents, but to my dismay, when I wanted to write back, I noticed the return address was not anything like what we learned in school—no house number and no street name. It was Drawer D, LaGrange, Texas. Because she was always playful, I thought Aunt Dogie made a joke with a make-believe return address. Hence, I did not write back.

Nevertheless, despite my no reply, Aunt Dogie was warm and attentive during our next visit after returning to the States. She even allowed my cousin Diane to come and stay with me that summer after sixth grade.

Aunt Dogie and Uncle George traveled from their home in Texas to Fort Sill, Oklahoma during the bitter cold January of 1971 for my wedding to Army aviator Larry Jones. They joked for years that they skated in the ice storm that escorted them back home.

In the sweltering hot July of 1983, they made the trek from Texas to Fort Campbell, Kentucky, to attend the Night Stalkers 160th memorial service for Larry after he died in a training helicopter crash while on active duty. Then they drove 45 minutes out to my home after the service. Devastated and totally depleted by the day, I had to lie down and could not sit up to visit. Finally, Aunt Dogie and Uncle George, Aunt Carol, Uncle Charles, and my Grandfather PoPo, climbed up the stairs and gathered around my bed to say their goodbyes. I wish I could have found the strength to be with them more after they had traveled so far.

After Uncle George died, I was able to visit Aunt Dogie in her home. An outside observer would never know the depth of her grief as she kept her life full of teaching, church, friends, and was famous for her jokes! I only caught a glimpse of her loneliness and loss when she bitterly let slip how people—even those closest to her—only phoned once after Uncle George’s death—or not at all.

Over the years, we met at various family events such as weddings, memorial services, milestone anniversaries, and reunions, which provided opportunities for connection.

Aunt Dogie’s can-do attitude, always punctuated with a joke or a riddle, was her hallmark trait and it strongly influenced me. In my often glass-half-empty self-made world-of-worry, Aunt Dogie was my role model for “drinking from my saucer because the cup is overflowing!”

Aunt Dogie’s brand of encouragement extended beyond young children. I relished her delight and praise for my three-dachshund tall tales picture books. Her exuberance for my third and final children’s book, A Tall Tale About Dachshunds in Costumes: How MORE Dogs Came to Be, was especially heartening. She gushed, “This is my favorite book! I love it!” Then she sent me a fabulous review:

“Having taught Kindergarten and lower grades for over thirty years, I find this book a wonderful teaching tool … Scott’s illustrations are great! Being a fan of storms, I especially love the girl and pups on the couch, watching the raging tempest. I can hear the thunder!”

Every time I read that section and see the illustration, I think of Aunt Dogie. Over the years she initiated our monthly check-in phone call. It usually began with, “Hi Elizabeth— (family calls me by my middle name) it’s Aunt Dogie—I don’t know anything, but just thought I’d phone and say, ‘Hi.’” We would chat about this and that. After a bit she would close, “Well, like I said, don’t know anything. But you take care, and I love you.” I would reciprocate placing calls and relish the connection to my past and we would share future plans.

Given Aunt Dogie’s age of ninety-two in 2024, and her ongoing health challenges, I wanted to find a way to express my appreciation for her. Recognizing her repeated efforts to visit me over the years, I resolved to make the journey to see her. She was living with my cousin, her daughter Diane, in Arizona. My daughter Kizzie Marie flew with me from Seattle to Phoenix. We rented a car and drove the three hours to Pima. When we walked into the house, it was as if we lived next door to each other and I just popped over for a cup of tea. Aunt Dogie appeared as always, taking life and health trials in stride with her wit and sharp mind.

Ever since I can remember, I knew Aunt Dogie loved butterflies. Anytime I saw anything “butterfly,” I always thought of her. I took this opportunity to ask how she came to notice them and why they caught her imagination. Surprised by her answer, yet in true Aunt Dogie fashion she quipped, “I don’t know. I just always liked them!”

Mid-May 2025 Aunt Dogie suffered a major stroke. It would leave her unable to see, hear, or think clearly and unable to move about on her own. Cut off from the life our gutsy Dogie had always embraced seemed to me an especially cruel twist of fate.

I was unable to sleep the night of July 28th. I grieved that Aunt Dogie’s final days had been so fraught with anguish. I happened upon a poignant piece by a favorite artist and writer, Brian Andreas, who creates bright unique drawings and pairs them with meaningful musings:

Butterflies

“He told me that the night his mother died, there were storms &
far away there was purple lightning & someone left the window
open & the room filled with a swirl of butterflies & she slipped out
quietly without anyone noticing & I’m sure the grief was softer
because of that.”

*This print by Brian Andreas is available for purchase here: https://conta.cc/3H3llHm

I discovered the soothing artwork and message a bit after 5 a.m. and finally was able to go to sleep. Later that day, I learned from my cousin Diane that her mom, my Aunt Dogie, slipped away in the early morning of July 29, 2025.

Since I could not attend Aunt Dogie’s funeral I began watching how I might be able to memorialize her here locally. To my delight I discovered that the Thomas Family Farms in Snohomish, Washington was hosting a Butterfly Release Event! Saturday, August 17th, the day before Aunt Dogie’s service— the invitation read: “In the Sunflower Fields, an evening of remembrance and gratitude for those we loved and lost … Collectively the attendees will release their butterflies …” How perfect—until I realized I had a commitment that day I could not change. Next year for the first anniversary of her passing perhaps?

As the summer butterflies gradually disappeared with the cooler Pacific Northwest fall temperatures, I consoled myself that I could look forward to their reemergence next year.

I was deeply touched that Diane generously chose a glass butterfly to gift me from Aunt Dogie’s collection—a souvenir from Portugal. I created a ritual of remembrance by placing it with a candle in a prominent place in my china cabinet to honor her memory.

I have no idea how it works when we connect with loved ones in the afterlife. I only know I have found it comforting and that it was always a surprise, nothing I could have conjured up. As the weeks passed without feeling the presence of Aunt Dogie, I resigned myself that I might not reconnect with her. I consoled myself with all our memories, last visit, and phone calls.

I made a trip to Cabo San Lucas on September 29th to October 9th. A recent rainstorm resulted in high humidity and the explosion of verdant grasses, foliage, and flowers. It was quite a contrast from the dry heat and brown landscape I was familiar with from my past visits in the winter months.

As I traveled from the San Jose del Cabo Airport to the city of Cabo San Lucas, I noticed waves of yellow floating through the air. At first, I thought they were yellow petals from the abundance of flowers. Finally, my eyes were able to focus. Thousands upon thousands of yellow butterflies filled the sky!

The once dormant caterpillars revived after the substantial rains started the life cycle for the butterflies and, combined with those migrating, resulted in this profusion of glorious butterflies! Aunt Dogie never did anything halfway. If she were going to give me a sign, it would be in biblical proportions!

This “snow globe” of butterflies remained for three days. Before they left, I had a personal encounter with one beautiful butterfly that landed on the balcony. It seemed to stop off to rest. I sat down next to it and watched as it occasionally flapped its wings. Rather than the pure yellows of the migrating masses, this butterfly was orange with black markings. Quite stunning. For nineteen precious minutes it sat with me. Aunt Dogie’s phone call litany played in my memory, “Hi Elizabeth—Aunt Dogie here. I don’t know anything but just thought I’d call … well that’s all … like I said, don’t know anything. Anyway, take care. I love you.” As it flew away, all I could do was breathe, “Thank you.”

Everyone should be so lucky as to have an Aunt Dogie in their lives! I am so grateful I did.

P.S. Later I would learn that although the butterfly migration occurs yearly in parts of Mexico, including the Baja Peninsula, this was the first time in recent history that the migration had appeared in the city of Cabo San Lucas.