The Best Pup

My sweet summer puppy. How I have loved you since I was 8 years old, how I still love you at 24. You were an old man, even at 1 years old. You preferred a calm night curled in front of a fire or on my lap rather than running to fetch a stick. Your curiosity had you ranging on your leash from in front of me, out to the side, to trying to drag me backward. Or maybe this was just because you didn’t want to go inside yet. You loved the outside, no matter the weather. In the summertime, you dig holes and curl yourself in a bed of dirt and in the winter you make a nest of snow and rest just as comfortably. To others, you appeared calm, mellow and slightly dopey. To us who know you best, we know your mischevious side. We know the husky in you that peers over your shoulder at us when we call you in, then calmly walk into the woods, not to be found for several hours. We know your silliness and your sweetness. Remember that time, one winter, I went to search for you. I found you in the field with snowballs in your feet, too uncomfortable to walk home. Why didn’t you come home earlier before it got this bad? No matter, I broke the clumps free and we walked home in the blue light of evening.
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