susanne
dB
I lost my little Hillary tonight.
I had finally accepted that she wasn't getting better, and that I couldn't let her go on. I was going to take her in to the vet in the morning, but instead when I got back after picking up Keith from the bus, I found that she left all on her own, without us there to comfort her. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye.
Hillary and I were soulmates. Two grumpy old ******* most of the time. She was a true terrier...stubborn and smart and never afraid to growl at those she loved. She slept on my pillow, wrapped around my head, often with her chin on my forehead. She never kissed us, but at night when she thought we were asleep she would wash our faces as if we were her pups.
We always joked that she was a "professional good dog." She never had accidents indoors, and if one of the other dogs did, she would show it to us.
We got Hillary on election day, 1992. I saw an ad in the paper and drove halfway to the coast. I held each of the four fuzzy puppies; Hillary was the one who held onto me, hooking her paws over my shoulder, something she did her entire life. I put her inside my jacket and zipped it up -- the perfect snug sack for a little ball of white fluff. That was how Keith first met her.
She never knew she was a dog...I swear that when we got Shadow, our toy poodle, she turned to us and said, "Hey guys, I don't think we need a dog."
Hillary loved going camping at the beach with us. We had to be careful never to throw a stick out into the waves, as she was incapable of giving up and would keep after it no matter what. The one thing she didn't like about camping, though, was the campfire...she would climb into our van and go to bed early, safe from the dreaded smoke.
Her favorite game was attacking the garden hose, running toward us as she tried to bite the stream of water. On hot summer afternoons, Keith and Hillary would play with the "super soaker" water cannon; Keith would pump it up and shoot it high into the air as Hillary leaped high into the air to catch it. Keith would often take a nap afterward in the lawn chair, only to wake up to see her waiting for him, staring at the water gun, quivering in anticipation.
Early mornings were our time together, and she always came out with me to feed the horses and to garden. She was a great garden companion, following me around or curling up on her own bed of ajuga (or so she thought) for a nap.
We're going to bury her this morning in the garden, and I'll plant ajuga over her grave. We can be together there as always. She'll be with us forever, whether we're in the garden, or camping at the beach, or in bed with us at night...I'll know she's there, asleep with her chin on my forehead.
You were a good dog, Hillary.
Hillary in a Snowstorm
My holiday card from a few years back
I had finally accepted that she wasn't getting better, and that I couldn't let her go on. I was going to take her in to the vet in the morning, but instead when I got back after picking up Keith from the bus, I found that she left all on her own, without us there to comfort her. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye.
Hillary and I were soulmates. Two grumpy old ******* most of the time. She was a true terrier...stubborn and smart and never afraid to growl at those she loved. She slept on my pillow, wrapped around my head, often with her chin on my forehead. She never kissed us, but at night when she thought we were asleep she would wash our faces as if we were her pups.
We always joked that she was a "professional good dog." She never had accidents indoors, and if one of the other dogs did, she would show it to us.
We got Hillary on election day, 1992. I saw an ad in the paper and drove halfway to the coast. I held each of the four fuzzy puppies; Hillary was the one who held onto me, hooking her paws over my shoulder, something she did her entire life. I put her inside my jacket and zipped it up -- the perfect snug sack for a little ball of white fluff. That was how Keith first met her.
She never knew she was a dog...I swear that when we got Shadow, our toy poodle, she turned to us and said, "Hey guys, I don't think we need a dog."
Hillary loved going camping at the beach with us. We had to be careful never to throw a stick out into the waves, as she was incapable of giving up and would keep after it no matter what. The one thing she didn't like about camping, though, was the campfire...she would climb into our van and go to bed early, safe from the dreaded smoke.
Her favorite game was attacking the garden hose, running toward us as she tried to bite the stream of water. On hot summer afternoons, Keith and Hillary would play with the "super soaker" water cannon; Keith would pump it up and shoot it high into the air as Hillary leaped high into the air to catch it. Keith would often take a nap afterward in the lawn chair, only to wake up to see her waiting for him, staring at the water gun, quivering in anticipation.
Early mornings were our time together, and she always came out with me to feed the horses and to garden. She was a great garden companion, following me around or curling up on her own bed of ajuga (or so she thought) for a nap.
We're going to bury her this morning in the garden, and I'll plant ajuga over her grave. We can be together there as always. She'll be with us forever, whether we're in the garden, or camping at the beach, or in bed with us at night...I'll know she's there, asleep with her chin on my forehead.
You were a good dog, Hillary.
Hillary in a Snowstorm
My holiday card from a few years back
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