The Rainbow Bridge
There’s tons of dogs. People at work have assortments of dogs: big, small, cute, ugly, stupid, not stupid, loved, not loved.
Dolly was my contribution to the dog conversations at work. She didn’t belong to me but I felt like she was my dog. Every time I saw her, she’d great me with her usual “Wooooooo” kind of howl. I’d howl back and we’d have a moment of conversation.
Dolly went everywhere that Matt and Jill went. She’d be dressed in her fancy collars and bows or costumes. She was a good-natured dog but had Bassett hound opinions.
The heat was not her friend – she’d rather walk on fire than go out for a walk on a hot day. Once a Bassett has formed an opinion, you can’t change it.
For more than a decade she was a part of the family. Jill brought her home from the pet hotel where she worked. Dolly was a joyful puppy and her owner needed to find her another home because she didn’t have the time for her. Jill brought her home.
She grew on everyone. Except for the assortment of my other daughter’s dogs. Dolly kept them in line with a quick snap. Dolly weighed half their weight but she didn’t take any crap. She tolerated the cats in her house but she was scared of my cats and the foster kittens I’d bring out to say hello.
Everyone said hello to Dolly Dog when she arrived. If she went somewhere she’d come complete with bed, food, meds and treats. The entire back seat of their vehicles was her domain. During the summer the Jeep goes topless and she’d be secured in to the back seat and she’d poke her nose out the side and let her ears fly.
No dog had a better life. Comfortable beds, specialized dog food and treats, bathroom breaks at all hours of the day and night, owners who hurried home from work to let her out, lots of vet visits and adoration by people who met her. She was crammed with personality.
At the end of July, Dolly crossed the Rainbow Bridge. She’d had enough of the medications, the pain that kept her sidelined from sniffing the world. The loss of her is real. Going to her house and not getting a “Woooooooo” greeting leaves a hole in your heart. She made the house a home. She was a presence like no other dog I’ve met. Now she’s gone and I miss her. Because, you know … dogs.