all dogs go to heaven

August 15, 2012


Reflecting on our respective workdays, my housemate and I spoke of how we planned to spend this evening. She planned to read and email. I told her that I often found blogging to be a way to wind down, but that I didn’t really feel right about talking of my first day back in my library when news had come from my mother about the unexpected death of the family dog. I mentioned that I really felt like writing about how much Kiwi had meant to us all, but that it seemed somehow silly, considering life in this place we live. “Not at all!” my housemate argued, “I don’t think that’s silly at all. I think it’s perfectly appropriate for you to write about the dog.” Then, as I hadn’t told her Kiwi’s name yet, she asked for it. Nodding at the name, she left me to, presumably, write about Kiwi. So here’s to Kiwi . . .
She was “Daddy’s girl,” in many ways. Mom told me that when she first found Kiwi, as a puppy, she had hoped that my stepdad would especially love her. And he did. After returning from work in the evenings, he used to announce, to anyone who happened to be in our always-guest-filled home, that we really must see Kiwi’s fetching prowess. They would launch into a dashing sport in which both Lou and Kiwi wore huge grins of sheer delight. In similar fashion, she brightened the lives of all of us over the years, greeting each new member of the family with pure, doggie love.
We will miss you, Kiwi.

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