Dear Violet, Part 2

Dear Violet,

You’ve always been different from Boone and Redford.  You chewed a few things when you were a baby, but it seemed like you got over that pretty quickly.  (You’ll still collect my things, but you don’t chew them.  I’ll come home these days to find a sneaker, a flip-flop, and a bra in your bed, all perfectly intact.)  Redford’s tail conducts a little symphony of joy all the time, a work of varied time signatures and tempos, but your tail has always had three settings:  side-slapping with joy, the metronome tick, and between your legs.  You’re smart, unlike your brothers, bless their hearts.  You memorize places where I put you back on-leash, and from then on, it’s like I have a force field around me when I hit those spots.  You won’t come within ten feet of me.  Though you don’t always follow the rules yourself, you are The Enforcer and sound the alarm whenever your brother is doing something naughty.

You love having play-dates and slumber parties with your friends:  Jackie, Barley, Raven, and Moby.  One time, I stupidly left Moby’s food bag on the floor.  I walked in to find Boonie sniffing at a giant, slobbery hole in the side.  I started to chastise him, but something else caught my eye.  You, looking like one of Dr. Seuss’s star-bellied sneeches, prostrate on the living room floor.  Sure enough, I took you all out for a walk and, ORP, you barfed up an enormous rainbow pile of Beneful.

From Day One you were terrified of children, and really anyone who didn’t love dogs.  You love to swim and dig your nose under the water (I call it The Bulldozer).  You love wrestling with your brother.  You send me on a total guilt trip when we haven’t been hiking in a few days.  You prefer to be rubbed on your chest and belly and will contort yourself on the couch to make it happen.  Despite my dismay, you insist on digging holes in my yard when I’m not looking, and then stare at me wide-eyed and innocent when I see your nose covered in red clay and give you a talking to.  Redford’s all ADD and will wander away from his food mid-bowl, and you’ll slink over and munch quietly until I yell at you.  If he’s being particularly focused one day, you’ll run to the door and arf as if there’s something he should be aware of, just to distract him.  When you lie down, it’s in full frog pose.  I sent a picture to ihasahotdog.com, so you have been immortalized.

That horrible day, when you popped out of the woods after four hours missing, I thought my body would fall to pieces.  I had never experienced relief like that before, which made it all the more horrible when Laura told me Boone was dead.  For days, I’d tell Wa, “I feel like I’m dying.”  And she’d ask if I was suicidal, and I’d say no, I didn’t feel like dying, I felt like I was dying.  The only thing that kept me going was you and your tragic, confused face.

It’s safe to say you’re the best decision I’ve ever made, Violet.  You are my rock and my guard dog and my shweetie pie.  I love you so much.

Love,

Amy