You’re Such a Good Boy

Trisket (taken last night)

Over the past year, I often watched you sleep.  At times, your legs would twitch and I imagined you dreaming of when you were younger and could run with grace.  In your sleep, were you still circling the house at full speed, stopping only to chase squirrels up trees? 

Over the past year when we would take a walk, I would take the lead and you moped behind.  As I slowed down to your speed, I would wonder if you recalled dragging me along behind as we headed into Hastings or up the canyon by Cedar Creek.

Over the past few months, when I watched in sadness as you bumped into walls and furniture, your cataracted eyes glassed over, I wondered if you remembered the hours we’d play in the kitchen. Your sharp eyes followed my hand as I tossed popcorn. You’d snap each kernel out of the air, seldom missing.

Since moving to Savannah, as you struggled in the humidity and heat, I’d wondered if you recalled how you loved the snow, running through it as you scooped it up with your snout and tossed it in the air, snapping at the falling flakes as if it was popcorn.

I am thankful that to the end, when you would stand beside me, you’d press your neck on my lower thigh, at the right height for my fingers to bury themselves in your beautiful mane. And I always loved how you’d stand into the wind, letting the tufts at the end of your ears fly back, as you sniffed and enjoyed the breeze.  Sadly, I missed our long walks around town, our hikes in the wood, and how you sat like General Washington in the middle of the canoe as we floated down river.  

You were so gentle with that little girl, the one who picked you out of the litter and named you for a cracker. You always looked out for her and for that reason alone, I am eternally grateful. The two of you grew up together, but you grew old much too fast. Seventeen years is a long time for a dog, they say, but it’s not nearly long enough.  

The house is way too big, lonely, and sad tonight. I keep listening for the sounds of your clanking tags and the tap of your toenails on the hardwood, but only hear the cold rain splattering on the deck out back. We’re all going to miss you, Trisket.  You were such a good boy, a pretty boy, a big furry fluffball!

My favorite picture of Trisket and me (2007)
Taken on the Thornapple River