Dear Jupiter.

2003-07-31 at 9:32 a.m.

We knew as soon as we'd gone for a walk with you that we belonged to you. In fact, we knew before that, when you stretched your paws out to us silently, looking up at us with those big bottomless brown eyes, that we were yours and you were ours. Once you gave us the Lean, it was all over but the paperwork.

Every squirrel was one you were certain you could catch, if you only were able to sneak up on him swiftly enough. Rabbits too. Every door was one you were sure you were meant to go through, even if it just led to clothes, or to a bar, or to the neighbor's living room. Every person you met you knew would love you. And you were right. You melted every heart you touched, even people sitting at outdoor cafes and waiting at stoplights and working at dry cleaners.

You loved vegetables--bell peppers were your favorite, but you weren't too picky. Tomatoes, cucumbers, mushrooms. You pretty much only drew the line at lettuce (and I suspect that was mostly because you couldn't figure out how to eat it). You didn't like cars--even in that, you were unique: the only dog I knew who got carsick. Watching you fall asleep has been a comfort; your racing dreams have been a secret pleasure, as you relive your glory racing days. Watching you run, explore, cock your head and prick your ears in curiosity has been a joy and a delight.

You were smart enough to know the sound of Andrew's car, to hear it even before your humans knew it was approaching. Your face peeking out the front window as we drove into the driveway was our sign that We Are Home and We Are Loved. You knew how to ask us to come out to play (even when it was midnight and the humans were tired, tossing shoes was a sure way to get someone to get up and come see you, wasn't it?). You knew, I hope, how very very much we wanted you, how very very much we love you.

Hopefully you don't know how very very sick you are. Hopefully all you feel is a little tired. Hopefully those doctors haven't been confusing and scary, but instead have just been new people for you to cajole into petting your head or scratching your chin just a little longer. Hopefully, you don't know just how much your body has betrayed you.

I'll be there with you--I'll hold your head, stroke your muzzle, and whisper into your tattooed ears as you fall asleep one last time.

This is one door you are meant to go through. I'm sure you'll catch that squirrel now.

0 people had something to say