Last night our dog Pippin died.
He was a beagle so that means he was stubborn and strong-willed and barked for no discernible reason.
It also means that he was loving and affectionate and adorable as all get out.
Pippin was always everyone’s favorite. Children would immediately latch onto him and squeeze. He suffered this with dignity. And the adults who spent time in our home would inevitably be graced with the presence of a beagle in their lap making contented grunts whenever his head was rubbed.
And he was my daughter’s protector when she was very young; sleeping at the foot of her bed keeping the scary things in the dark at bay.
And he would come with me to work, napping the day away on a blanket on top of my desk. We would walk the lunch hour in the park down by the river where the smells were always so, so good.
And on those cold winter nights, the ones that seem to last forever, the nights when I couldn’t sleep for thinking and worrying about money or work or any number of seemingly daunting situations Pippin would be there to snuggle close with a lick on the cheek and those large eyes staring up as if to say, everything will be okay. And somehow the stresses of this world didn’t seem as important with the feel of his soft fur beneath my fingertips.
And so for thirteen years he brought happiness and comfort to my family, he brought joy into our house.
So let me say just one last time…
Who’s a good boy? Is it you? It is you! You’re a good boy Pippin. A good, good boy!