When I was 16, my brother and I brought home a little tiny puppy. He was part basset hound and part something unknown. He looked a lot like a beagle with short legs. And even though my parents made us take him back that night, the next morning they told us to go bring him back home. The little pup had wormed his way into all of our hearts after just a few moments together.
We called our new family member PJ. That summer we trained him to do all kinds of silly tricks, like rolling over and begging. We marveled at how cute he was asleep on his pillow, for some reason he would move in his sleep so his head was on the ground and his butt was up in the air on the pillow.
He quickly grew too big for his pillow. There were times we regretted teaching him to beg and roll over as he would do those tricks repeatedly during dinner in hopes of getting a little morsel of people food. He managed to trick his way into sleeping in beds with people.
As we grew up and moved out, PJ stayed at home with my mom. My brother and I went to college, got jobs, got married and PJ was always there with my mom. Recently my mom told me that even though we thought we were bringing him home for us, she really thought he was brought to our family for her. He was her constant source of comfort as she dealt with the “empty nest”.
Last week when I was in Utah, PJ was very lethargic. He wouldn’t eat and he had lost a lot of weight. The poor doggie had no energy, he couldn’t even make it on a walk to the mailbox without a lot of effort.
My mom just informed me that PJ passed away during the night. He had a really long life and was with people that loved him. I’m glad he didn’t suffer a lot. But it’s still sad to think he’s not going to be there to greet me the next time I am in Utah. He truly was a part of our family and he will be missed.