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© 2003 Brian F. Schreurs
Even we have a disclaimer.

I remember the day you came to us and you tried to walk back home.

I remember the way you slept flat on your back with all paws dangling in the air.

I remember the way you drank water: lap lap lap, pause, lap lap lap, pause... every time.

I remember the way you gnashed your teeth when you got frustrated.

And I remember how much gnashing you did when you were overweight and couldn't keep up with Taz. But you leaned out pretty quickly.

I remember how you sat like a lady in the back seat of the car.

I've lost count of how many times you snatched treats from my fingers, nearly taking my fingers with you in a most unladylike manner!

I remember how you'd send Taz to get someone when you wanted to go out, rather than going upstairs to get someone yourself.

I remember the way you diligently licked the spoon perfectly clean at dinnertime. Then the bowl. And sometimes, just in case, the floor.

I remember you killing moles in the yard, then hiding them so you could play with them later.

I remember you always walked a perfect heel without being told -- like you took pride in doing it right.

I remember when you peed in the house you could make it look like Taz did it. (He misses you anyway.)

I remember the way you'd walk into someone's house with the confident expectation that any dogs present would bow down before you. And how you were almost always right.

I also remember you nearly pulling down the Christmas tree in pursuit of a cat who would not bow down.

I remember the way you bravely defended the household against a marauding garden tractor.

I remember the way you treated plush toys as a puzzle, with the goal to have them inside out by dinnertime.

I remember how you'd take a shortcut under the farm truck, leaving you with a grease stripe down your back that wouldn't wash out.

I remember the way you greeted strangers with extreme skepticism but greeted friends with outstretched paws.

I remember the look of disgust you'd give me when I took you outside in the rain.

But most of all, I remember the way you'd prop yourself up on my knee and lean backward, with full faith that I'd never let you fall.