April 27, 1996—September 12, 2006
eLarson writes: She was a pretty good dog, albeit a little food-aggressive. I learned the hard way that her concept of food extends even to butter wrappers. Still, though, I'll remember the way she could devour a bowlful of kibble in under a minute. Or how she could catch fragments of Iams dog treats in midair. Or the way Dad would hide them around their house, letting her sniff her way to them.
She was bred from a line of agility trial dogs. And though she had no formal training, I'll remember the way she could jump all the way over the sectional sofa at my parents' house. Or walk along the back of it, tightrope style. I'll remember the time we discovered her standing on the dining room table after a holiday meal. No one saw her get up there, but some surmised that she may have jumped off the back of that sofa.
I'll remember the way she would tug on the sleeve of my sweatshirt to get me to play on days when I was staring at a computer screen. I recall that she was a little afraid of my Cannondale, but she did like going for rides in a trailer behind it. ("Daddy, look! There's a doggy in there!")
I'll remember the way she would sing along with certain songs. She liked Patricia Barber, in particular. Something about the tone of the guitar in the mix.
It was a relief that she went quietly and before there was any obviously debilitating pain.
I'll miss her.
She was a good dog.
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