Duke Bronson Haynes Esquire III, mighty little dachshund tyrant who fiercely growled at every ball he chased, trying to intimidate it into stopping on its own. Who buried baked goods) from an unknown source) in the back yard, suspiciously looking over his shoulder and ultimately moving them. Who demanded a bone the second the hoomans finished dinner, because that was his ritual. The “good sleeper” who anchored the bedcovers so dad couldn’t steal them. He was DBHE3, Ankles Malone, Goobs… sometimes “little shit.” I spoiled him rotten.

I used to refer to pets as life’s wallpaper… ever-present background company. Duke was nobody’s background anything. He was stubborn, persistent, front and center. He made a few small children cry. He could destroy “indestructible” toys with squeakers in seconds flat. I got him for my young boys who chose a big name for a tiny four-pound puppy. Of course it was me he bonded to and me to whom he remained fiercely loyal. He scrambled into the chair by the front window everyday at the right time and watched for my return from work, greeting me with wiggles at the back door.

I miss that homecoming. The absence of that huge personality that I lived with the last 13 1/2 years leaves a deafening silence. But we’re grieving and adjusting and hoping to reach a day where we can give another dog the great life we gave Dukie.