For Sophie...

It has been a little over a year since we had to put my Sophie down; she has been on my mind a bit lately.  And since I have no new inspiration at the moment, I am sharing something I wrote after she died.  

She was a German Shepherd, mixed with not-sure-what, maybe collie or Australian cattle dog, with a shepherd head and a mottled coat of many colors.  She was a bit of a doof, sweet as can be, but didn't much like other dogs except Freckles, maybe due to her days of being a stray.  But she was all love to me, Curtis and Chris.

I had never had to put a dog down before, and although there was nothing more we could do and she was non-responsive by the time we got her to the vet, it was still gut-wrenchingly painful.  But I was glad to be with her at the end, and writing this helped.

For Sophie

Just a note to say farewell my furry friend, and thank you for appearing in my life, loving me, and teaching me.

You taught me that worthwhile things are often inconvenient.  You taught me to give you frequent treats.  You taught me the value of staying close to those you love.   You taught me that big dogs are love bugs. You tried to teach me to stop leaving my gym bag around where you could get into it.  Finally, you are helping me learn, yet again in my life, how to let go.

Moments to remember:  You, roaming around behind the Edwards Theater, skinny and alone.  You, at the pound, days away from being put down, looking at me with those big brown eyes.   You, scaring the crap out of Freckles when we first brought you home.  You, the moment I knew we would keep you and love you, silently coming up to me when I was sitting at the computer, and laying your head on my knee.

You, with a huge tri-tip in your mouth that you stole off the kitchen counter.  You, chewing up yet another toilet paper roll or Kleenex or paper towel.  You, chasing Haley with her pony tail and thinking it was a rope bone.    You, accidently getting locked outside and waiting quietly by the front door.  You,  squeezing out from under the garage door the moment it was 10 inches off the ground.  You, lunging at that little dog in the truck that belonged to that very strange man.   You, using me as your personal scratching post.    

You, getting skinny from diabetes.  You, patiently enduring the twice daily insulin shots.  You, eyesight mostly gone, making the best of it.

You, your body pressed against mine, giving and receiving love.

Farewell my dear.