R.I.P. to Mr. P

Dearest Paco -

With heavy hearts we said goodbye to you this month.  I can still hardly believe it - on the one hand you soldiered on without complaint these many months and deserve to rest at last...but on the other hand you've been our steadfast companion for 11 years, so how could we possibly let you go?  Our Seattle life has had you in it almost since the beginning - from the Ravenna house to Maple Leaf and Lily to the current house and Matteo - you've been with us through it all.

Looking back to those early days, I still remember seeing you for the first time.  I was so sad for you in that shelter I agreed to adopt you based on a picture and a guarantee from a stranger you were a great boy in need of love.  I was ill-prepared for the love-at-first-sight we would experience - you were so much smaller than I expected, your thick fur as soft as a bunny, your soulful eyes full of love.  I remember you quivering on Chris' lap the whole ride home, how one squirt with a water bottle and you were instantly house trained, how you put up with Cass humping you with an "if I must" look on your face, how Chris had to teach you what toys were, and how you would then pick up everything around the house and bring it to us as if asking "and this?  is this ok?", and I remember that first winter, your Fido fleece and wrapping you up snug every night so your little Puerto Rican body wouldn't get cold.

Through the years you were the easiest of dogs.  You certainly weren't the brightest, but what you

lacked in cleverness you more than made up for in devotion.  It took so little to make you happy - butt scratches that made you wiggle from paw to paw, treats that would make you simultaneously sit and prance on your front paws, bursting in from the dog door on a cold night (IT'S....PACO!), walks, running off leash, any car ride.  You were the dog that loved everyone, the dog that would rest his head on laps, staring up sweetly (I remember Christine, not a dog person, saying "stop making me love you!"), the dog people called the therapy they didn't know they needed, the dog every kid in the neighborhood could pet and love with complete confidence.  You were patient and kind, trusting and loyal.  You didn't have an aggressive bone in your body, but your would come downstairs with me and sit in the doorway, guarding me, until I came back up.  You were my shadow, my companion, my sweet boy.

With the addition of kids, we didn't always give you the attention you deserved and for that I am deeply sorry.  I knew it, I even acknowledged it, but I didn't always fix it. You never punished me for that, but instead waited patiently.  You were patient with all of us.  You curled up and kept Chris company silently when he began to work from home, you waited out Lily's toddler years and didn't hold them against her, you endured the past three years with Matteo, despite our not always being able to protect you from his whims.

You will be sorely missed.  Know that I don't do well without a dog in my life, but any new canine that joins us will never be a replacement for you.  Never will another dog share your quirks: your tidiness, your desire to only lie on something soft until the last months when lying anywhere became the norm, the secret pooping, the way your front paws danced, the way you would wedge your bottom under hands and crossed feet to "self-scratch" until the person took the hint, your love of winter fleeces, the way you jumped to say hello, but somehow made it seem sweet.  So many of those things changed in the end...but I want to remember you how you were for 10.5 years, not the final few months.

Wherever you are, I hope you are getting that scratch you always wanted...that Cass isn't having her way with you...that you know how very loved you were....and that we will someday meet again.

All my love,

Julie