Whitman boys.

No posting for a few days while TDW, The Gus and I get warm somewhere that isn’t here. We’ll have family watching the house — family, and the S1W — but will surely have many pix to share on our return. To tide you over, please check out the adorable shots I just uploaded to my Flickr page, which you should of course bookmark, if you haven’t already.

Twelve days ago we gathered around Sophie, our ten-year-old Lab, and said goodbye to her. She had had a brutal previous two weeks, as her systems collapsed like falling dominoes, and she was exhausted. Our vet — a good and gentle man — promised us that it would be quick and quiet for her, and it was: as he pressed the plunger on the syringe, she put her head down on her paws, took a last breath, and relaxed.

She was really TDW’s dog — I was just an intermeddler in the relationship between her and Sophie, after all — so I turn the keyboard over to her:

I have had Sophie since she was a tiny puppy — and since I delivered half of her litter — I may have even delivered her. Her mother Hershey, who is still alive today and pushing 14, had a litter of twelve puppies, six boys and six girls.

We color-coded all the puppies so we could tell them apart. Sophie was “blue girl.” Hannah really picked her. I was trying to decide which of the 12 puppies I would keep — not an easy task since they were all adorable. But, on a visit to my parents house Hannah said that she thought “blue girl” was special because she figured out how to get down the stairs before any of the other puppies. So “blue girl” became Sophie and she was mine. This picture, which my sister Malissa took, is of Sophie the weekend I picked her. I still believe she was the cutest puppy ever.

She and Hannah had a special relationship because Hannah took care of her the first few months.

I was living in an apartment with Mitch and Tania and couldn’t have dogs, although I snuck her in on weekends and Mitch would get her so excited that she’d pee. I had to wait until we moved into the “Hawthorne House” before I could have her all the time. I think it was when we lived there that Mitch nicknamed her “Brown Dog” and it stuck. There is a great picture in the set that I know Tricia especially loves. It is of Sophie sitting innocently as Tania holds a dagger over her head.


She was the cause of much laughter and entertainment in that house, especially once Kaiou (Mike’s dog) entered our lives.

There were many nights that we would all sit around and watch Sophie and Kaiou wrestle. You’d think that a bunch of twenty-somethings could find something better to do on a Friday, but no.

When she was three, she was hit by a minivan while Christine and I were on a run with the dogs. It was very traumatic for both of us, but luckily she was just badly bruised. When one of her favorite people, Jennifer, came by to see how she was doing , she really seemed to “tell” Jennifer all about it. It was something you had to see to believe. They had a very special connection. While I was so glad she was okay, the impact of that injury showed up again later in her life and really began limiting how much she could do. Toward the end of her life, it became really hard to see such a fun loving dog suffer after just a few minutes of running at the park.

She then moved with me and Tricia into the Hancock apartment. Tricia and I spent many evenings talking with Browner’s head in one of our laps. Those were very special years and Sophie received a lot of love.

She was here when we brought our son, Gus, home from the hospital. I had talked to many people about how best to introduce a newborn to a dog who has always been the center of attention. So following what I thought was the best advice, I put Gus on the floor in his car seat right in front of her. She sniffed him and licked him and then walked away. She didn’t seem too concerned. And since then she has been amazing with Gus. As he became mobile, he sought her out. He has spent hours climbing on her and petting her and she tolerated it all. While I am glad that he is not old enough to really miss her, I am deeply saddened that he will never remember her.

Over the years, she and I have done so many things together from trips to the beach, hikes, camping trips and swimming in many of the lakes and rivers in this beautiful region. She was a water dog after all. She loved to go anywhere and even though she drove me crazy with her excitement-induced whining, she and I went…and we went everywhere together. She was a great companion. She was loved by all my family and friends and accompanied us on many adventures. She was the centerpiece of many stories and the butt of numerous jokes. I loved her so much and will miss her always. I know many who have known her feel the same.

This is the last picture of her, taken her last night. When we brought her back from the hospital where she had stayed several nights, The Gus ran over and threw himself on her. Not very accurately, but everyone got his message:

I remind TDW often of how lucky we are. Witness this whole site, which revolves around The Gus — as indeed, our whole lives do. He is healthy, good-natured, and beautiful. He even sleeps, now, for hours and hours and hours at a stretch, and cheerfully hurls his beloved blanket from the crib to tell us that the blanket is ready to exit, and so is he. If he has an occasional afternoon meltdown, does that detract from his perfection? Nay, I say. Nay! It only throws the contours of his delectability into contrast, that we may appreciate him all the more.

We aren’t religious, so it seems awkward, coming from us, to say that we know we are blessed. And it doesn’t seem enough, somehow, to say that we know we are lucky. So I throw back to the ’70s, when it was cool and not just dated to like Heinlein, and say that we grok our good fortune, grok it in the whole global context.

We got it good.

Witness this past weekend. A warm wet front blew through during the week, scouring the moisture from the air and leaving the sky blue. We, and all the other toddler-parents, took our kidlets to the park, to the play structures that are recommended for children ages 5-12. (Ummm…the only reason 12-year-olds go to the park is to smoke clove cigarettes and break curfew. Trust me–TDW and I know.)

I mean, beat this:

I love how sunlight makes his eyes look grey. Or maybe that’s just the color sensitivity in the camera sensor, but still:

He climbs up the play structure:

Then slides on down:

Looking like a real boy, Pinnocchio!

Then we got home and had to refuel. Remember this?

Well, check this out–The Gus is a tool-using mammal!

Though sometimes he forgets the user manual.