Tonight my dad put Sophie to sleep. She had been with our family for 2 months shy of 18 years. I'm not sad as I write this. I do feel empty though. You see, Sophie was a lovely red Pekingnese and she always thought of me as her puppy.
Rather than mourn her, I want this post to celebrate her life. So I want to give everyone a sense of her strength.
Sophie spent her first 2 months with a breeder. She came from show lines but she wasn't quite a show quality pup. She was spunky, headstrong and she didn't want to be adored. No, Sophie wanted to roll around in the dirt, play rough and be a real dog. She got her wish. Her first 8 months in our home was spent mostly under the right paw of Shiloh, our Akita. She was his living, breathing, warm, fluffy chew toy. I don't think that her fur was ever completely free of Shiloh drool while she was a pup. She'd squirm away and then let herself be caught again. She always, always, always went back for more.
Then one day, when she was about 11 months old, we heard Shiloh barking franticly from the bathroom. Apparently Sophie had enough of being a chew toy and she attacked, chased and cornered Shiloh. He was barking from where he was trapped: on top of the bathroom sink. She was down below him, daring him to jump down.
And this began a fast friendship, with our little "lion dog" in charge of our gigantic "bear" of a dog. It also defined Sophie. She was tough, focused and determined.
She had an ongoing love affair with tennis balls. This lasted until last year. She would hoard them in her bed. It wasn't unusual to find a dozen or more tennis balls in her bed, with her guarding them, lest one fall out of the bed and roll away. She was never aggressive in her guarding. It just reminded me of how a mother might gather her pups around her. To grab the tennis ball looked uncomfortable, but for her to release it, it appeared quite painful-as if she had to dislocate her jaw to do so.
She wasn't a cuddly, sit in your lap and look pretty girl either. After her baths or her trips to the groomer, her first stop was garden mulch or top soil. Ribbons didn't stand a chance. Perfume? Hardly. She lived up to the Peke reputation too, knocks at the door were greeted with barks, as were strangers in the home. Afterwards she'd strut, obviously proud that she warned us of the "danger."
As she grew older her barks came later and later. Sometimes the guests would already have left before she would begin barking.
Sophie's barking, rolling in the mud and face licking will be sorely missed.
Rather than mourn her, I want this post to celebrate her life. So I want to give everyone a sense of her strength.
Sophie spent her first 2 months with a breeder. She came from show lines but she wasn't quite a show quality pup. She was spunky, headstrong and she didn't want to be adored. No, Sophie wanted to roll around in the dirt, play rough and be a real dog. She got her wish. Her first 8 months in our home was spent mostly under the right paw of Shiloh, our Akita. She was his living, breathing, warm, fluffy chew toy. I don't think that her fur was ever completely free of Shiloh drool while she was a pup. She'd squirm away and then let herself be caught again. She always, always, always went back for more.
Then one day, when she was about 11 months old, we heard Shiloh barking franticly from the bathroom. Apparently Sophie had enough of being a chew toy and she attacked, chased and cornered Shiloh. He was barking from where he was trapped: on top of the bathroom sink. She was down below him, daring him to jump down.
And this began a fast friendship, with our little "lion dog" in charge of our gigantic "bear" of a dog. It also defined Sophie. She was tough, focused and determined.
She had an ongoing love affair with tennis balls. This lasted until last year. She would hoard them in her bed. It wasn't unusual to find a dozen or more tennis balls in her bed, with her guarding them, lest one fall out of the bed and roll away. She was never aggressive in her guarding. It just reminded me of how a mother might gather her pups around her. To grab the tennis ball looked uncomfortable, but for her to release it, it appeared quite painful-as if she had to dislocate her jaw to do so.
She wasn't a cuddly, sit in your lap and look pretty girl either. After her baths or her trips to the groomer, her first stop was garden mulch or top soil. Ribbons didn't stand a chance. Perfume? Hardly. She lived up to the Peke reputation too, knocks at the door were greeted with barks, as were strangers in the home. Afterwards she'd strut, obviously proud that she warned us of the "danger."
As she grew older her barks came later and later. Sometimes the guests would already have left before she would begin barking.
Sophie's barking, rolling in the mud and face licking will be sorely missed.
