Since I wasn't able to say good-bye to her one final time, I thought I'd write a blog post in the form of a letter . . . isn't that what grief counselors always make people do? (On TV at least?)
|1.24.98: The day we got you.|
(It's a shame dogs don't go through
awkward years. . . .)
Growing up, you never just slept in any ol' room. You'd start the night on the second-floor balcony, so you could watch Mom and Dad's bedroom (before the addition was made), as well as the street out front; then you'd move to Nicole's room, where you could lie on the floor and rest your head on the windowsill, again keeping an eye on the street; and then you'd move to my bedroom, where you had the luxury of sleeping on the bed, while resting your head on a windowsill to watch the street (you liked to watch the street a lot). It could be 30 degrees out, and we all kept our windows slightly cracked and our blinds up six inches so you could get some fresh air and see what was going on (this would be troublesome on nights when you'd bark over nothing, but great when you scared away the kids teepeeing our house). When Mom and Dad woke up first, you'd go downstairs to get your pill, and would then lay somewhere where you could watch upstairs for me and Nicole (on weekends, when we could sleep in for hours, you'd often come back up). You knew you had rights to at least one pillow when sleeping with one of your sisters. Generally you'd take two, and at least half of the bed while you were at it.
|Cozy in my bed.|
|Dad's favorite child.|
|Mom's partner in crime.|
And so much for the thought that dogs can't have table food. You were probably one of the best-fed dogs out there, and until cancer took you at the ripe age of (almost) fourteen, you were incredibly healthy. You loved pretty much anything, except onions and lettuce. You rarely chewed what you were given (except carrots and, when someone held the core, apples). It became a joke after we'd give you something for us to ask you if you even tasted anything. You were the doggie vacuum when Mom and Dad cooked, especially on migas days. You spent just about every dinner underneath the table, yes, a big part of it had to do with the end of mealtime because you knew each of us would slip you something, but I also think you realized that dinnertime was important to us, and as a family member, you wanted to be there, too.
You loved to people watch. You loved people in general. You were perfectly content being pet all day long—and often (playfully) growled when one of us stopped doing so. When you were on the floor and we were on the couch (the one place you weren't allowed on), you loved to stretch your leg out with your paw in the air, just so we could hold it while you slept.
|When Bobo came to visit, you|
liked to help him do household chores.
|You were always protecting us |
(here with Nicole).
|You and Hogan.|
|You used to be able to fit under the bed.|
|You were there on my|
first day of high school and
Nicole's first day of middle school.
|I wish there was a better option, but this is the |
only picture we have with all five of us.