The Death Of An Old Friend

Sofie the Dreaded Jungle Basset Hound. She was almost eight years old. She was a spoiled rotten princess with terrible manners and a classic hound smell that made you regret petting her. She was a sweet, lovable, and patient dog, a wearer of tutus and wigs, a gobbler of Cheez-its and anything else you threw her way. She stole countless sandwiches-- and once, an entire piece of chocolate cake-- from the table. She endured many tail-pullings and lots of rough love from the toddler. She's acted in our plays. She's worn thousands of costumes. She took part in parades. She grudgingly let us take pictures of her.
And she lay on a soft blanket on the floor of a vet's office, wagging her tail as we said goodbye.
She's the first dog I really remember. We had Oreo the Jack Russel/Snouzer, but I was really little when he died from parvo so I honestly don't remember much about him. We got Sophie when I was seven.
She used to come lie on my bed in the mornings, curling right up in the bend of my legs. She'd keep me warm when it got really cold. I think she mostly liked the soft bed and the blankets I'd put over her.
She was the laziest dog ever. If you were in her spot on the couch, she'd sit on you. She loved cuddling.
Part of me is saying maybe there's something good in this. Because now we might possibly be able to give a good home to a Basset puppy who needs a good place to live.
Part of me is twisted into a big knot that won't come undone.
I'm not really sure why I'm writing a blog post. A blog post, of all things. It just seems kind of impersonal. I guess this is for me more than it is for other people to know what happened. This is me saying goodbye.
Goodbye, Dreaded Jungle Basset. 
I miss you.

--Kaytie


For a dog who hated having her picture taken, there are quite a lot of them.