Dot died a couple of days ago. My son and his wife got the news as they returned home from a visit here. She was fourteen years old, an old age for a large dog. When Chris, and Nat came for the summer visit, they were worried about Dot who had been left with the vet after having several teeth pulled. It seemed that Dot was doing well after the surgery. They called often.
Dot was mostly pit bull, maybe a little bit Dalmation. She had a big brown dot on her sweet face. They got her as a tiny puppy early in their marriage. Dot grew up on Vashon, an island in Puget Sound. Everyone on the Island knew Dot. She went on errands with Chris and sat proudly in the passenger seat, the dowager queen. Dot was always a well-behaved dog, never a leaper or a crotch sniffer. Her people loved her and trained her well. She had extreme dignity. And she took up a lot of space.
Chris bought one dog bone each day to give Dot. It was a ritual. Dot spent her days in Chris's shop, mostly in her bed under the work table, or outside taking in rays when there were any. When Chris went into the main house, Dot followed. As a young dog Dot chased frisbees and took long walks with the family. Even though huge, Dot slept with her people in their bed every night.
She made room in the family bed for those interlopers, the two little kids.
This dog was truly embedded in the family and one could see that in her quiet way (I have never heard her bark) she loved this family beyond all imagining, forgave them their foibles, overlooked their human crap, and gave them everything she had.
I have such a visual memory of Chris lying on the floor cuddling Dot.
We can cry over the loss of a favorite pet. These creatures give us such uncomplicated direct love and affection.
Dot, rest in peace.
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