I love you. I love you. I love you.
I remember coming home from work that day over 12 years ago. I was even more excited than normal to see your mom.
She and I were going to drive to Lebanon and hopefully get a dog. A Newfoundland breeder had a mistake. Being a mistake myself I was interested. It was late February 2008 my grandmother had just passed away and I was feeling a little blue until I saw you.
What’s a Newfoundland?
I didn’t want to know anything about you. Your mom kept sending me links and pictures throughout the day. I didn’t want to know. All I did know was that I really wanted a dog. We had just bought our first house. We have a great yard. We both really wanted to add something to our life. We already had two cats, so it seemed to be the next step.
Is that a pony?Nope it was your mom
I got out of the car and this huge black dog came right up to me, put her paws on my shoulders and with her huge wet jaw she licked my face. Basically how you greeted people to our house these last 12 years. Your dad was an English Lab. He was light in color, stocky, and had a strong bark. Just like you.
Apparently the breeder was not only into Newfoundlands but classic automobiles as well. For the pole barn/kennel where you were born was also vintage/classic car center. Your grandparents went away for a week long vacation with strict instructions to there children to not let the lab out with the newf. One hundred and thirty days later here we stood looking to purchase a mixed newf puppy that had been born just after Christmas.
You chose us as much as we chose you. Our timelines on this planet crossed and our lives have been better ever sense. You were all paws at the beginning. You always looked comfortable. A more laid back Sphynx when sitting at attention or an Egyptian princess when sprawled out on any thing soft.
We gave you a middle name so you knew when we really meant what we had just said. Your mom and I even created a human voice for you. It’s kind dopey but super cute and it is what we think you would sound like if you could talk.
Much like butts, ninnies, and moo moo’s the origins of your nickname your family members know and those that know your family could probably guess. You were everything we needed you to be. Our first child. A fur baby. A big sister. An alarm system. A walking companion. A partner on the couch, on your bed, and in ours.
You, your mom, and I have logged some pretty serious miles over the last twelve years. Everywhere we went you were there with us and now you wont be. It’ll be hard I know, and it should because that means it was worth it. The laughs, the tears, the smiles, the walks, the catches, the chases, the tennis balls, and my discs. It seems like we have been following that jet black, high waving, steel, curly q tail of yours our whole lives.
A 125 pound body pillow
I know what I’ll miss the most is the snugglin. On our bed, on your beds, the floor, and in the grass. Not just here but with every dwelling you ever spent a night you always found the master bed. The thing I look least forward to is going to sleep. You slept in bed with mom and I basically every night. I was against it. But, the first time I went away on my over night field trip that first May your mom let you in bed and there you have stayed. I’m so happy she let you up. Sometimes you went to bed before us. Those we’re always classic. There goes Pune. Other neights we all retired simultaneously, and other nights you came up when you were ready. Most nights you’d walk to the window take one last look around our Cul-de-sac and then up to bed right in between your mom and I.
Pizza crust and steak
I’m not sure what I’ll do now that I don’t have someone to share my meals with. Pizza crust and steak were our favorites. But cheesy puffs are a close third. A million memories. You were a one of a kind friend.
Fare thee well,
As life happens, I think this unfortunate but predictable departure was a gift from above to help me through a separate unpredictable departure recently of another dear friend who left this world way to early. You both have left a tremendous and lasting impact on my life .
I look forward to seeing you both in my dreams, and hearing your voices in my head.
Until our next adventures,
I’m so sorry for your loss Ken and Missy!! You have articulated your love, and your loss in a special way!!
Thank you for your kind words
Sorry to hear the news about Wrigley. She was a gentle giant. I always looked forward to seeing your fur babies as much as seeing your family when you head north for a visit. Wrigley reminded me a lot of Missy, our yellow Lab. Same temperament, and from your blog, the same imprint on our lives. The best thing about our canine furbabies is the unconditional love they have for us. You can leave for a short run to the store or even just the mailbox. When you walk back in the door it seems to them you were gone forever. The worst thing is the relatively short time we have them. You never get over the loss, it just gets easier to live with eventually, so they tell me.
Dave, thank you for your kind words. I’m so happy to have had Wrigley in our lives and to have been able to share her love with all those that we came in contact with. She left big paw prints all over my heart and soul and that has made me a better person. Missy sounds like a great companion as well.
Sorry for your family’s loss Ken. Wrigs was a great dog. Still remember our kids playing with her when they were small. And of course finding her walking into our house via the garage to play with Emma and Mic from time to time. Thoughts with you guys
The Golden Years. Thanks Joe. Wrigs, much like Emma, Mic, and Vonn, were great additions to our individual families and our little corner of the world.
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