Letters to a Canine in the Sky

Dear Willow,

I’m going to make this snappy because I don’t know how well you can read, and I also know you’ve got more important things on your agenda (bone-digging, barking, scratching, sniffing, tail-chasing…you get the picture). What I’m trying to say is, you’re repaired now. You can pounce and prance in fields of Beggin’ Strips and pork chop rinds, and chase rabbits to your hearts’ content—and where you’re at, you’ll always catch them. There are never thunderstorms to scare you to sleepless nights. You don’t even have to beg, you can straight up eat anything. And there are walks—you’d better believe there are W-A-L-K-S!

More significantly, I’d like to thank you for being real. Yeah, you were a bitch sometimes, but that was just a front. You put up with the bad haircuts, the costumes, the days we left you for vacation. You smiled often and unintentionally. You had black lips…beautiful, fuzzy black lips.

You gave nearly 11 glorious years to Family Christen and everyone that knew you. Now I’m crying giant, salty tears onto my new laptop for you. You’re probably panting at me. It’s okay. It’s okay.

Stay fly, sweet lady. Your glory will resonate my whole life through.

Love your sister from another mister,

Willow Maple Christen
10 January 2000 — 13 September 2010

May the road rise to meet you.

May the wind always be at your tail
May the sun shine warm upon your furry face,
and rains fall soft upon your whiskers.
And until we meet again,
May God hold your paw in the palm of His hand

Until we meet again…

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