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Mino
I picked Mino up at the Humane Society in October of 1993. She was
barely eight weeks old, but they had already spayed her, and she had
developed a serious skin infection around the incision. She was the
last of a litter of Puppies that had been dumped at the shelter; the
runt of the litter, alone in the pen, sick from the surgery and
infection. What choice did I have? Just the best choice I've ever
made. The infection faded, her energy surged, and she remained one
of the happiest, healthiest dogs I've known until cancer downed her
twelve years later. She didn't learn to swim until she was eight
years old, but always loved being in the water; at first just
running and wading, and then swimming for tennis balls and sticks |
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She was my constant companion for all the years of her life; she was
with me through divorce and major surgery, I supported her through
fights with other dogs and brushes with law (her dislike of cats).
While in some ways her personality was "aloof," she didn't like to
be
held for long, and she preferred sleeping on the floor near me, but
not
on the bed. However, she was uncannily sensitive to my emotional
states; if I was sad, she would pick up on it and comfort me, if I
was
arguing with my wife, Mino would physically come in between us and
try
to placate and distract me.
There is no way I can relate all that Mino meant to me; I truly feel
as if I've lost a part of myself. There
is a place in me that she filled that I don't think can ever be
healed, with her passing I am truly diminished.
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Posted
Sept. 29, 2005