Sophie Day

I've been dogsitting for Sophie the last couple days, so dog thoughts are running through my mind...

Sophie was born on Christmas Eve 1998 in Richmond, Missouri, one of a litter of fourteen. By the time I first laid eyes on her two months later, it was just she and a sister pup left. “Pick me!” she seemed to say, paws propped up on the plywood divider. Her sister was more docile, which I thought might be a better choice. Never having owned a dog, I believed docile meant easy. But Mike convinced me otherwise.

The breeder was tired. Selling 12 golden retrievers would be enough to wear anyone out. She said she’d give us a hell of a deal if we took them both. But I was overwhelmed with just one puppy, so we declined. Instead, Sophie Day (named after Sophia Loren and her penchant for black eyeliner) boarded the SUV bound for Kansas City.

It has been over a decade since Sophie trotted into my life and to regale all the dog stories would require a novel instead of a blog entry.

She is still around, living with Mike and going to ‘work” everyday at the office. She is slower, as a ten year dog is apt to be. Her back paw never quite healed from a scuffle with the FedEx truck and the golden has turned to white. Golf course runs are now block walks. But she still begs furiously for your last bite of food, greets visitors with a wagging tail and loves a drive to Dairy Queen.

Someday, sooner rather than later, I’ll have to blog something much sadder. But for today, I am fortunate to see the dimming of an era before it’s totally gone. And be nudged by a wet nose for just one more peanut butter treat.