Eulogy to my Puppy

Hey Pup:

You know how I still call you pup even though you're over 12 years old?

You know how I'm still fuzzy on your age, because I thought we got you in '99...

But maybe it's '97.

I still remember the day we picked you up.

(I have the poorest memory, but I still remember that day)

We had just lost Prince.

And there you were, among a crowd of Sheltie pups.

You were the shyest of the group (just like me!)

And Mom thought, we want this one.

You were tiny. Just the same size as my Piglet stuffed animal.

I know, because I made you nap with him once.

But you grew. And grew.

(I couldn't edit the red eye here. Your eyes just wouldn't have looked the same.

Just as they were the hundreds of times I looked straight into them,

and wondered... what does a dog think?)

You played fetch. But mostly tug-of-war.

Remember how we could pick you off the ground, while you held onto that rope?

I'm sorry if that ruined your teeth.

I should have brushed your teeth more.

But I was too young to realize it when you were just a pup.

You loved to go on walks. We couldn't even say 'walk' when you were around.

We had to spell it. But even then, you were too smart.

You learned how to spell.

I should have walked you more.

Remember just a couple summers ago, when my goal was to walk you daily?

I hope we didn't over-do it then. You were already starting to limp.

We couldn't say 'treat' either. You knew that one too.

You were the perfect fit for our family, because you loved to eat.

Even vegetables. What dog eats vegetables?

You did.

(Look at you running! Remember when you'd run and slide all over the house?

I bet you're running now. Maybe you've met Prince.

Geez, don't make me cry, pup...)

I haven't slept with you at the foot of my bed in years.

Honestly, I'd forgotten you used to do that.

But last night, as I layed down to sleep, I could feel you there.

You always knew how to comfort me.

Yesterday, as I said goodbye, tears flowing down,

you just sat and licked my hand.

And I let you. Because it was always how you comforted me.

We played yesterday. Not as energetically as usual.

We used to run and slide and bark all over the house.

But you did bark last night when I asked you to speak.

A big loud bark. You hadn't really let out a bark for a while.

Thanks for that bark.

To Princess, you will always be remembered.

And missed.

By so many people. More than you can probably imagine.

So long, puppy.