Tribute to Pepper
We said goodbye to our sweet, spirited Pepper on Friday. After 13 3/4 years bringing a whole lot of “pepper-doodle” life and mischief to our family, she boldly said “YES!” to one last golf course romp on Christmas Day. Joining her pack of youthful cousins and niece pup for figure-eight loops and furry snow angels — it was clearly her final exclamation. Her old body, depleted, was ready to rest.
The most well-read dog we’ve had in our family of goldens who came before her, her most recent devoured book happened to be the same one Blair read over his holiday break: GODWIN, by Joseph O’Neill. Apparently, she didn’t love the ending. Mr. Dils shared her assessment.
Things that stressed Pepper out most: the UPS truck, vet visits, thunderstorms, avalanche snow falling from the roof, men with hats (until she learned to love them). The vacuum cleaner. The mop.
Things she loved eating most: any kind of paper, cardboard, napkin, or tasty recyclable. Underwear. Sweaty socks. Fresh fish — especially the skins we saved her and the tuna tidbits and juice from the can. We found a German can opener that leaves a smooth edge for her substantial tongue.
Places she loved most: the tight tiny trunk of the car each morning, especially for daily coffee runs at Tunnel City and groceries on Mondays. The bathtub during a thunderstorm. Soccer sidelines — not so much to keep track of the game, but ever so pleasing to have been invited. The trail. The river. Stick-water in springtime, when buds and blooms and hibernators wear the very best scents to track. Her Mommom and Babo’s house, especially for Sunday suppers, belly rubs, and swimming pool dips. Camp. Glorious, clover green Camp. With gardens to dig and chickens to sniff and cousins to herd and so many balls in the pool to bark at.
Things she wasn’t so good at: swimming gracefully (the way her otterish cousins & niece do). Quieting her sharp, piercing bark to announce anyone’s visits, expected or not. Being left home alone. Over the years, varied attempts at calming this separation anxiety included soothing playlists, soccer games left on TV, peanut butter smeared inside favorite bones, and the comfort of the repeated phrase we used whenever we needed to leave: “You be good, we’ll be back.”
Sometimes when we returned, she earned praiseworthy treats. Nothing disturbed or destroyed. Miraculous. “You’re such a good girl!” But other times, her naughty rage got the best of her. Despite our lifting books and magazines out of snout reach, she was persistent and creative. Most recently, not one but two hardcover copies of Philip Roth’s THE PLOT AGAINST AMERICA met their demise; first the library’s copy and then, its purchased replacement. She did love a good poetry book. Scattered words and their shredded pages making entirely new verses on the family room rug. The consequence: the dreaded vacuum. Worth it, she declared. Once early on, she ingested all 52 cards of a cribbage deck, along with a well-worn shirt Miranda left out in her cubby. It being winter, Pepper spent the better of two days shivering outside under the kids’ play-set, not so much ashamed as completely ill, heaving hourly until she finally upended the bulk of the foreign objects.
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Then, there are the things that made her so darn lovable. The way she patiently picked up one paw at a time for a towel-dry when her feet were messy or wet, first the fronts, then the backs. Her youthful summertime haircuts that made her strut. Her full-body, frosty wiggles on Mr. Dils’ coveted snow days. Her circling, yelping, panting excitement when any of her kiddos came home again from their other worlds.
Her adoration for our Babo, and the goofy, stiff way she perched in his lap, with or without his favorite old t-shirts he loved to dress her in. During his final time at home in hospice care, she never left his bedside, and when it was time for him to leave, she accompanied him reverently to Nick Flynn’s coach in the driveway.
She may have been the most patient aunty our sweet grand-dog, Elsie, could have asked for. Sharing her bones. Sharing (relinquishing) her bed during visits. Sharing our attention when energizer-Elsie required much more of it. I’m pretty sure she taught Elsie all the best smells of the world. The best hiding places for balls and bones. How to hold a sit with both expectancy and entitlement by the kitchen treat jar.
But my heartache is for her moon-shaped devotion beside me at my desk. The life of a writer’s dog requires many, patient drafts. She was the very best listener — an unconditional, adoring, ardent fan. Keeping company. Keeping track. Keeping winter’s chilly ankles warm. It’s been extra drafty already, since she’s been gone.
Thanks for sharing such a good long dog life, Pep. And for being ours. xoxoxo
