Dr Valentine Duran. Micron pen (.03 and .05), Sharpie marker, Sharpie acrylic paint pen, Copic marker and Prismacolor marker on 9" X 12" Strathmore Bristol board. Art by Coyote Duran. (Please click to enlarge.)
Makayla (in 2014): "Daddy, is Valentine a doctor?"
Me (in 2014): "Uh...YES! Valentine IS a doctor! A board certified physician, at that!"
That question came out of nowhere but it certainly was entertaining, considering it was asked by our then-four-year-old daughter. I mean, how could I answer otherwise, especially since we loved fueling our little girl's imagination from a very early age? The fact that Makayla was a big fan of Disney Junior's "Doc McStuffins," at the time, was a contributing factor; we're certain.
From then on, our newly adopted cat Valentine was known as "Dr. Valentine," or "Doc," as I liked calling her, for short.
We adopted Valentine in 2014 when she no longer fit in her previous home, with Tracy's cousin Jeremy, his wife Angie, her children and pets. For a while, we were looking into welcoming a pet into our family...well, one that wasn't a turtle, at least. At the time, we had two turtles: Shelldon, a three-toed Eastern box turtle, and Super Steve Irwin McQueen ("Steve" for short), a common snapping turtle. When Jeremy and Angie asked us if we'd like to give Valentine a new, permanent home, we jumped at the chance after meeting her.
Val was terribly bashful, withdrawn and rattled, understandably, being she was spirited off to a new home with humans she didn't know. We didn't have a carrier, so it was quite the chore getting her out of our car and into our apartment. Once she was safely inside, she immediately hid in our bathroom and wrapped herself around the rear of our toilet.
It took a while (a long while, actually) but the good doctor finally came around. She became loud, outspoken (with the shrillest of meows!) and very much in tune with the girls and Shelldon. Steve, on the other hand, wasn't a fan of Val, but their relationship somewhat mellowed over the years. Then came Taco.
As time went on, however, tensions would cool and Val and Taco would ultimately learn to coexist.
Valentine proved quirky, even quirkier as the years continued. One day, when Tracy and I were having leftover homemade chili (one of my specialties) for lunch, Tracy set her bowl down. There was a small bit left and Val walked up to the bowl and helped herself. This cat actually liked homemade chili. She truly was a Duran.
Just last year, we started noticing something of a decline in Valentine's behavior. She was slower, less talkative and started hiding out in Makayla's room, often sleeping under her bed. We began to worry about Val's health and Tracy kept vigil, even making certain Valentine had water and food right next to her. Then one day, something changed.
I made my homemade pot roast, inspired by my maternal grandmother's recipe, and Trace set aside a small portion for Val, just to give her some extra comfort. Lo and behold, just like with my chili, Val was all in and her meal rejuvenated her. There was new life to the old girl and although she became dreadfully thin over time, she continued vigorously eating her usual food, whether it was kibble or moist food, both of a high-protein variety.
But the inevitable still reared its head. No matter how much water she drank, how much food she ate, her condition continued declining. She was more wobbly and her vision and hearing suffered. Tracy, Makayla and I then had the difficult conversation; you know the one. The time had come to help our beautiful Valentine make her journey home.
On April 18, I called our local veterinarian's office to arrange an appointment. Afterward we did our best to make Valentine comfortable, to show her we were there and that she was loved, no matter what. But somehow, she knew what awaited her.
From that point, Valentine rapidly declined. Despite her failing faculties, she was fully aware. Despite us planning on being there at the vet's office for her appointment, to make certain her humans were the last things she saw before she slept...she decided she'd go home on her own terms.
It was a total Valentine thing to do.
We congregated in the living room one final time to hold our Valentine. To cuddle her. To kiss her. To tell her we love her so much. To cry. We held her in her favorite blanket, Makayla's thick Elsa (from Disney's "Frozen") blanket. Fittingly Tracy was the last to hold her. Shortly after midnight on April 19, at age 15, Dr. Valentine Duran, board certified physician, silently passed away in her human mother's arms.
Later that day, we took Val to the veterinary clinic, the very same which arranged the cremation of our turtles, wrapped in her Elsa blanket, her favorite purple toy mouse at her side. (That mouse was her absolute favorite, preferred over all the other toys in our home. We asked to have it cremated with her, so she'll have something to play with in her new existence.)
Through abject sadness, we ultimately felt relief but less for our own worry. Valentine's pain and discomfort were now gone. But her presence was still deeply, deeply felt.
Tracy (who shared top billing with Makayla in Valentine's heart) has always had an extraordinarily high sense of empathy. She sees and feels things most of us don't. (In my case, I don't think spirits even want to bother with me.) After Valentine's passing, Tracy would see things, unexplained shadows perhaps, smaller shapes of varying degrees, move about in our home from the corner of her eye. We believe they might be Val, Steve and Shelldon, roving around together in their own manners, happy to be reunited in wherever Heaven may be for cats and turtles.
About a week-and-a-half after Val's passing, I had a dream I was sitting on the carpet in our living room (mind you, my dreams are always a little slapdash. This "living room" was half our real living room and half of another living room I've never entered. But like most of my dreams, I'm supposed to know what the hell is going on in them, no questions asked) when I suddenly looked toward our couch.
Val was right there, looking hale and hearty as ever. Her weight was back; there was a fervor and energy not seen in many moons as she leapt onto and off the couch, chasing her favorite purple toy mouse. I smiled and yelled excitedly over my shoulder to the girls...
Me: "Hey!! You two have got to see this! Val's home! (To Val) Val...you're better. You're not sick anymore..."
Makayla: (running into the living room) "Dad, she is back! (To Val) Hey, Val! Be careful; you don't want to hurt yourself!"
Me (to Makayla): "Did you see what I just saw?"
Makayla: (to me): "Yeah, she just threw her mousie in the air and it bounced off her head!" (laughs)
We just sat there in silence, smiled and watched. Then I woke up. It was one of few dreams I would have preferred to stay in for much, much longer.
The following day, one chockfull of errands, I got the call from the vet clinic, letting me know Val's cremains (her ashes) were ready to be brought home.
If you ask me (and I know you didn't!), Val brought us into her new reality by way of this dream. It was her way of telling us she was not only coming home the following day but that she was always home with us.
And she will always be with us, no matter where we go.
That's when I decided I needed to honor Val and Our Pack with an artistic tribute, one I originally intended to give Tracy, near the end of this month, for her birthday. However, with so much time until her birthday, I figured I wouldn't have to hide the finished piece for long if it became a Mother's Day gift instead.
So a clandestine project began...
Dr. Valentine Duran, pencil stage. 4H graphite on 9" X 12" Strathmore Bristol board. Art by Coyote Duran. Please click on image to enlarge.)
I knew I couldn't work on this piece at home, as I'm certain the question "What are you working on?" would be asked and I didn't have to answer with "I can't show you!" I mean, what better way to arouse suspicion or, at the very least, indirectly inform anyone at home that gift was in the making? So my office (by "office," I mean my guard shack where I work my third shift Joe-job) became my artistic refuge. Now, I often draw at work but I've never challenged myself to complete a piece from start-to-finish there but I had no other option.
I decided my layout would feature Val looking toward the heavens, flanked by her purple mouse (the same as seen in the photo above, in which Val's got her diva look happening), done up on 9" X 12" Strathmore Bristol board (my favorite drawing paper) with my trusty Alvin Drafting Tech DA De-lux "Blue Special" leadholder.
My next move, a relatively simple one, was the inking stage. That's always fun and easy to do at work, if I'm not working on a piece for my YouTube show, "Have Paw, Will Draw with Coyote Duran." (Yep. Free plug here. I have no shame, kids.)
Dr. Valentine Duran, ink stage. 03 and 05 Micron pen on 9" X 12" Strathmore Bristol board. (Please click on image to enlarge.)
(An emotional aside: I was halfway through inking this piece when I showed it to Makayla. I asked, "Can you guess who this is?"
She lightly gasped. After several seconds, Makayla slowly lowered her head, covered her eyes and cried. She then looked me straight in the eyes and said, "This is the most beautiful thing you've ever drawn."
In that very moment, I saw that same curious little girl who asked me if Valentine was a doctor. I felt awful, yet humbled and honored all at once. I honestly didn't know what to say but "Thank you," then shower Makayla in apologies for making her cry.)
Now coloring the piece was just a little more challenging because I now had to root through my marker kit for all the Copics and Prismacolors I needed for my late-night shenanigans (or are they monkeyshines? I can never tell where the line is drawn...), then sneak them into my bag and out of the apartment. When it was all said and done, I had a gallon Ziploc bag packed with markers and refill bottles.
But the ball got rolling and during "X-Men" films on Disney + and revisiting episodes of "The Drink and Draw Social Club" on YouTube, I got most of it squared away. I finished the piece at the laundromat the Saturday before Mother's Day. (It's always fun to watch everyone with their heads constantly angled at 45 degrees while leering into their mobile devices, as I - the most aware cat in the room - am picking away at a portrait with a bag full of markers. I definitely got some curious looks that day.) One idea I changed, however, was the idea of looking toward the heavens. Sure, I could've emulated and rendered light from the upper right corner but the idea seemed to be a little cliched. In the spirit of Valentine's name, I instead drew seven hearts in an arc, which brought an unexpected diagonal balance to the piece from lower left to upper right. And there's a reason for seven hearts. I've always believed our household and Pack was at its strongest when it was occupied by "The Seven": Me, Tracy, Makayla, Valentine, Steve, Shelldon and Taco. Three of them may be physically gone now but their strength and love remain. One heart for each of us.
Dr Valentine Duran. Micron pen (.03 and .05), Sharpie marker, Sharpie acrylic paint pen, Copic marker and Prismacolor marker on 9" X 12" Strathmore Bristol board. Art by Coyote Duran. (Please click to enlarge.)
The text on the piece, comprised of Valentine's dates and epitaph (not including my watermark), was actually done in Photoshop, then printed on a separate piece of Bristol board, which I measured with a centering ruler before cutting with an X-ACTO, creating a small placard. I then center-measured and lightly marked the artwork, then affixed the placard to the art, matching their center marks before erasing them altogether.
One mat and frame later and a lovely gift featuring a far lovelier subject emerged.
And yes, there were more tears and understandably so. It is - nor will it never be - easy to say goodbye to our pets, our non-human family, because, obviously, they don't live as long as humans but, more importantly, they make us more human. And having Val as part of our family wasn't happenstance; it was fate.
Whenever I create a piece celebrating subjects that are no longer with us, I daydream that somehow, some way, art brings a little part of them back to us, whether they're well-known to the world or just us. And if we have that ability - that gift - then, dammit, why not use it? Sure, paid commissions are great but nothing comes even close to a purely emotional response. Even better? Being looked in the eyes and told with every ounce of sincerity and kindness, "Thank you." That's when you feel like a real superhero.
I brought Val home in what seemed like the smallest of decorative, ornate containers. Just seeing its lack of size bothered me but near the end of her life, there was hardly anything physically left of her. But we choose to remember her at her strongest and most robust...
...she had a personality greater than the Pyramids...
...a voice that could bring down the walls of Jericho...
...and a heart full of love, wonder and protectiveness.
And those things made Valentine so very special to us.
Rest well, old friend. Make sure to say hello and stay close to Grandma (I'm sure you both have pot roast and Coyote stories to swap) and Tracy's dad Jerry. And make sure you, Shelldon and Steve always stick together...
...and yes, Val, Taco misses you very much too...
...just like we do.
We'll see you down the road, sweet girl. Just save us some chili and pot roast for when we get there; will ya?
We Love You, Dr. Valentine.
Questions? Comments? Complaints? Commissions? Hit me up at artofthepaw@gmail.com. You can also follow me on Twitter @CoyoteDuran, on Instagram @CoyoteDuran, on BlueSky @coyoteduran.art.com and on Facebook @CDCreationNation. You can also watch some Coyote TV on YouTube @CoyoteDuranArt.
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