Yesterday, after thirteen lucky years together, our black lab Bodhi took his last breath. Forgive me for this brief eulogy.
There was the time you dug up every tulip bulb I’d just planted because you smelled the bone meal I used to fertilize them.
There was the winter when we thought you escaped and were lost and drove around the neighborhood and then the town trying to find you late into the night, only to realize that you were lying under the shed all along.
There were the countless questionable dining choices you made over the years on underwear, the extra ingredients in the cat litter, various leather goods and your favorite, flattened frog roadkill. The ongoing battle with the cats where they’d eat your food so you’d eat theirs. I respected that.
I’ll miss those 10 PM power walks we’d do, and admit I don’t walk as much as I did when you were healthy. Back when you were a teenager you’d occasionally charge towards the woods, chasing a rabbit or a black bear or maybe a zombie; I was never really sure. I learned to anticipate those abrupt maneuvers and would spool out retractable leash like I was running out line on a marlin.
Your best move was late night hide and seek. Pretty clever of you, being a black lab on a moonless night standing perfectly still when we let you out, until we gave up and went in for a flashlight. Even then you were usually found in the very last place I’d look for you.
The pool filter won’t be the same without a full season of black fur clogging it up. You were one hell of a water dog, and swam so much you’d get ear infections. You always had a look of sheer delight when you would push the screen door to the side and sprint straight to Buzzards Bay, kids in chase behind you. You must have seal somewhere in the family tree.
We’ll miss you Bodhi. 13 lucky years with you was not quite enough. We loved you, frogs and all.