She was never much of a classically “good” dog in the sense of one that actually did what you asked her to. She’s probably the only dog I’ve ever had that didn’t come running enthusiastically when I called and wouldn’t really stick very close unless she was on a leash. We were always afraid she would take off and not come back, so she always had to be on a leash, even in Truckee.
But she was affectionate and happy and loyal and loving, and so what if the only trick she would do was to sit when you waved enough food at her to get her attention. She was this big mass of yellow hair that was in perpetual motion from puppyhood to late middle age. She loved people. Any people.
She was a Labrador who wasn’t fond of jumping into water. She liked water enough, but it needed to be a more gradual entrance, a little slope please, not the heedless jump into the unknown that her predecessors Friday and Lazarus used to do. She was a little more reserved than that.
She wanted to know what was in it for her. In the matter of cookies, if you tried to bribe her with the small size milk bone, she would study and weigh the the cost benefit balance and she might not go for it. She required a large size if she was going to do anything notable, like come in the house after she got out front.
She was a puppy when she came home with us, and, in dog years, by the time she left she was over 93. She still had all her teeth, and up until Monday she would still dance at 4:30 am for her morning biscuits, still wag her tail and smile when we came home (if she woke up), and still seemed to be happy and enjoying life.
Something happened on Monday and she started falling over and was having trouble getting up. We think maybe she had a stroke. By Tuesday afternoon it was apparent that we were going to have to make the decision. Sarah called me at work to come home and I got a ride because I wasn’t going to make it with the bike in time to get her to the vet.
We stayed with her while the vet did his thing. It was quick and painless. In the end she looked like she was truly sleeping.
Now it feels strange not to hear her snoring and the click of her nails on the floor. Not having to climb over her or worry about whether it’s time to feed her. When I got up this morning I didn’t take her out before I started my tea water. A member of the family, part of the daily routine of our lives, is gone.
We’ll miss her.
