“I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race; for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten or twelve years, what would it be if they were to live double that time? The misery of keeping a dog is his dying so soon. But, to be sure, if he lived for fifty years and then died, what would become of me?” – Sir Walter Scott
Patrick was a pup who lived life big. He didn’t just have one stuffed toy, he had twenty. He didn’t enjoy a bite at a time, he snarfed it up in one bite. He loved car rides, snuggles, taking up the whole bed, chasing the ball, barking at the neighbors’ dogs, and pats from anyone and everyone.
The first time I laid eyes on him he was in the back of my parents’ car, sitting tall with a tennis ball in his mouth. He arrived for the first time like he had been created just for our family and was ready to live his best life and teach us his ways in the meantime.
Boisterous, hilarious, and the best Scooby Doo run imitator you have ever seen, I’ve never met a dog that made me belly laugh as much as he did.
We said goodbye to our sweet, goofy boy yesterday. Him in my parents’ arms as I wept from thousands of miles away. He got sick and within days was gone. My heart will forever regret not being there with him, but I know that he knows I love him.
Always have. Always will.