He lived with us here in the Big Yellow House since shortly after we moved in. I have spent the last eleven years primarily working from home, and he has been my constant companion. The house seems empty without him, and everywhere there are reminders of the gap in our lives that he filled with such joy. My grief is exhausting, exacerbated by my normal holiday depression.
And yet, I am so very grateful to have known this dog, to have had him in my life for the time that he was with us. So today I remember my Boogie, my companion and friend, the sweetest dog in the world.
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This was taken the day we brought him home from the airport. He was four months old, and he was terrified. He got over that fairly quickly, and expressed his displeasure at being gated into the utility room by digging a hole in the wall. We crate trained him shortly thereafter.
While his beard was growing in, the Smart Man's best friend insisted that he looked like a Muppet and usually sang the Muppet theme song whenever he saw him. Boogie loved him anyway, and for many years the Smart Friend was his surrogate family when we were out of town. And once his beard actually did grow in, he made a habit of wiping it dry on the leg of his favorite people after each and every drink. Because he was a sharer like that.
He eventually grew into a rambunctious, beautiful young adult whose shenanigans kept us laughing and on our toes. He almost managed to knock himself out by running into walls (there's still a dent in the corner support in the kitchen). He insisted on barking at his reflection in the mirror. He went through a phase of stealing the meat and cheese from sandwiches (but not the veggies or bread) if you left them unattended. He managed to snag a meatball off a counter as they were draining. His sophisticated appearance was deceiving, as this was goofiest dog on the planet, and in no way effective at hiding his misbehavior.
He was also a very helpful dog, as you can see from this photograph of him assisting me with my knitting.
And helping me water my Marigolds.
Even as he got older, he still remained a very handsome boy, and he managed to win over most everyone he came into contact with. The depth of my love for this animal has always been a little surprising. It's a simple, uncomplicated thing, just like him, and my grief is the same.
I miss my Boogie-Dog, more than I can say. As my old friend Kathy, a devoted animal lover, notes, "The toll we pay for this kind of love is heavy." Indeed it is. But I'm grateful to have loved this dog, and for the time he was a member of our family. We're better people for his presence in our lives, and he was an anodyne for the cynicism that creeps in during stressful times.
The best dog in the world, and worthy, utterly worthy, of both my love and my grief. My good, good boy.
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