She quietly lived while we busied ourselves around her. She loved to be relaxed, running did not come naturally. She preferred to stand tucked away in the woods watching safely from a distance when the gas man came to fill the tank. She wasn't especially lady-like, but she wasn't particularly sloppy either. She wasn't loud, demanding or moody. She was content. She was Abby, our Golden Retriever, and today she passed away.
My parents brought her home 14 years ago and she smelled like a barn. Her coat was the color of fall leaves. Her fur wasn't long and shiny like the Goldens on TV, instead it was kinda fuzzy like a teddy bear. After her first bath my mom wrapped her in a beach towel and she fell asleep like that in my arms. Mom named her Abby.
Our previous beloved Golden named Katie had recently passed on, and Katie lived for tennis balls. Fetch never ended for her, it only had intermissions. So naturally we bought Abby tennis balls, too. It was not for her. Abby preferred, even from a young age, to nap.
And so she grew, living a slow, peaceful existence all the while probably confused what the fuss was all about with the rest of us. My parents joked that she was like a sundial, moving her napping location as the sun moved around the house. Never a vain dog, she had no qualms about warming her exposed belly in the middle of our driveway.
When Abby was about 6 or 7 years old my parents went to Hawaii on vacation. I was told to take her to the groomers to get her first haircut because she was looking less like a teddy bear and more like a molting buffalo. So I dropped her off for a new 'do. Later that day, a nice lady smiled when I asked where my dog was, then gestured to the animal at the end of her leash. I was in shock, then I laughed until I couldn't laugh anymore. Abby, the russet haired chubby dog was gone and in her place was a thinner, platinum blonde animal with a disproportionately large, dark head, dark shins and feet. She had been given a crew cut, her long hair was now a 5 o'clock shadow. She looked, quite literally, like a lamb. I choked through gasps of laughter as I called my parents to tell them what they now had. It wasn't until they arrived home, got out of the car and Abby trotted to greet them that my dad fully understood how funny it really was. A bit chilly from the lack of coat, she spent the following spring sunbathing as on her back, legs spread. From then on we would call her "Little Lamb" every time she went back to the groomers.
Abby patiently tolerated, and maybe even grew to love Pencil. Pencil is my parents (and once mine) spunky,bossy, full-of-it Jack Russel Terrier. They would sleep together in the garage in the summer and spend days together in the dog house. Pencil would bounce off of poor Abby when she was excited, which was often, but Abby would just look at you with a face that said, "What is with this dog?"
Mom told me Pencil is a bit confused today, and is looking for that large lazy girl that was a good friend to her and a good sleeping buddy. Eventually she'll move on, but today she waits anxiously by the door for Abby to come inside. I think I feel the same way. I know someday I will smile and be grateful she was in all of our lives, but today I'm like a confused Pencil, waiting for Abby to come awkwardly galloping home, and missing her.
I love you Abby. You were a good, good dog.
