Coming To Terms

With the fact that my doggy is not gonna be here anymore.

My dog; she of the sungit variety and hardheadedness.

My dog; who refused to be like a typical dog.

My dog; who stank because she never liked to be cleaned.

My dog; the beautiful creature whose howls were the most beautiful howls I've ever heard.

My dog; she who curled up in the middle of the couch in front of dozens of people as my Lola was opening all her gifts from her 80th birthday, refusing to be left out of the party.

My dog; she who fought with any and all dogs, just because.

My dog; the one who attacked a skunk, just because.

My dog; the one who swallowed a luggage lock because she didn't want my Mom to travel to the Philippines, only to barf if up as she was leaving the door towards the airplane.

My dog; the humperer, despite the fact she was a she.

My dog; the one who never showed her love back to us (perhaps that's why we loved her even more?).

My dog; she who always became super jealous and enraged whenever one of us was holding a baby.

My dog; the socially-retarded one.

My dog; the one who we saved from an apartment-life, who was rail-thin when we got her, and who went on to live 12 happy (at least, I would think) years.

My dog...sigh...my dog