It was my youngest dog, Joy.
I got her after my dog, Magic died. I still had Magic’s puppy, Blackie, and all Blackie did, day after day, was lie in Magic’s spot in the blue chair with her head on her paws doing nothing. Blackie was ten years old.
I couldn’t help her. I tried. Finally I thought if I got her a companion, she might perk up. Someone I worked with had a sister whose dog had puppies and I got one of them.
Blackie was not happy to see me walk in with the puppy in my arms, but when I put her down by the blue chair and she sniffed at Blackie, Blackie got up and jumped down and walked away.
Hey. Progress. Blackie moved.
The puppy continued to try to play with Blackie. All her efforts were rebuffed, but with the optimism of youth, she continued to try.
The puppy, who the children who owned the mother dog had named “Joy”, began to imitate Blackie. When I’d toss Blackie a bite of food, she’d catch it. Joy tried to do the same thing and seemed as happy about missing and getting it up off the floor as she was when she’d actually catch a bite. But practice makes perfect, and eventually Joy was also catching the bites.
I took them both out at the same time and Joy would run up to see what Blackie was doing when Blackie “did her business”. It would make Joy squat happily right beside her.
Yesterday was Joy’s sixth birthday. I had given Blackie a 16th birthday party last month. I’d actually forgotten Joy’s birthday until it popped up in my facebook memories.
It doesn’t seem possible that I’ve had her six years now.