Ghost of a Dog

She's only been gone a week, but Dad says both he and Mom have had dreams about her. And then there is the jarring realization of her not being there when you come home. And in the middle of the night, you wake up in anticipation of her wanting to go out. And when you get out of bed, you check to make sure you don't step on her. And her hair is still everywhere.

How come it still makes me cry when I think about her? The way she snored softly when they gave her the sedative. And how her little tongue stuck out. The tongue she'd used so often to lick my feet. I'm her second favorite, I always liked to say.

Miracle had her quirks. She barked and barked for seemingly no reason. Hence the nickname, Miss Barky Bark. She could be sitting next to you on the couch for hours, and then if you got up and came back she would growl at you like she'd never seen you before. She was funny like that.

And at one time or another, she bit each one of us, leaving little scars on hands and legs. No one could understand how we still kept her around after that. But we knew it was just because she got spooked and we'd try to be more careful.

She had many other nicknames too. Mirala, Boo Boo, Grumpus von Puppybottom, Monkey butt, Fluffa, Woofie, Wooba and Woobie. We were always coming up with new ones. It was almost like we loved her so much one name wasn't enough. Though she came with one that was already tough to live up to. She was rescued by firemen days after she was born when she and her brothers and sisters had been left out on a freezing cold New York sidewalk in January. The puppies piled on top of each other to keep warm and those unlucky enough to be on top died. She was saved by being on the bottom of the pile. So the firemen that found her, took her to the pound and called her Miracle.

She was a beauty, everyone who saw her said. Big and fluffy like a lion (Puffy Lion Dog), the black tongue, stout frame and temper of a Chow Chow, the floppy ears and long nose and big paws of a Golden Retriever. She was our Golden Chow. Out in public we had to warn people, she wasn't great with strangers. But when you got to know her she was really sweet. She was chicken when it was storming out, or if fireworks were being launched, or even if it was just windy. But she protected Dad, and her turf 'til the end. By then so much of her hair had fallen out, she couldn't get up the stairs like she used to, and her allergies were unrelenting. But we couldn't bear to part with her any sooner than absolutely necessary. It was the hardest thing trying to decide when her quality of life was at its low point and it was time. She still looked at you with those brown eyes (one of them as ever overcome by eye gook) and her tail still wagged.

But she went peacefully to sleep and now she's in doggie heaven, running and barking and licking. And maybe she'll even run into my little Tiffer up there. Wouldn't they make a pair!