She's just my dog, SiSi

It doesn't seem as though it's been eight years since SiSi came to live with us in what we hope is her forever home. Last week of April in 2013 are when I took the first pictures of her and that's what the eight years is based on. She was already about a year old when she came to live with us. She's a "rescue dog" and has done a great job rescuing us, including the Better Half's dog, Franco, from taking our brief existence too seriously. SiSi is always ready to play, unless we're in the midst of a thunder storm.

SiSi -- first portrait

Photo by J. Harrington

She appears to be predominantly yellow lab, crossed with one of the ground-trailing breeds based on the amount of time she spends with her nose to the ground. She's also the only dog I know, or know of, that growls or grumbles with pleasure when being petted but also makes it clear where she doesn't want you to rub her the wrong way in the wrong place.

SiSi "retreiving" soap bubbles

Photo by J. Harrington

When [we're resisting typing "and if"] we get warmer, dryer weather, it'll be time to pick up a new jar of bubble juice and let SiSi have some fun chasing bubbles around the back yard. Even though she's allegedly over 60 in dog years, she's still spry enough to enjoy fun and, heaven knows, we all could use more of that all too rare asset these days.

In SiSi's honor today we're going to share a poem by Gene Hill, one of our favorite outdoor writers, although we've taken the liberty of changing the gender in the original version to match SiSi's. May each of you have at least one pet in your life who brings as much joy into it as SiSi does to ours.

SiSi, she's just my dog

Photo by J. Harrington

She is my other eyes that can see above the clouds

She is my other ears that hear above the winds

She is the part of me that can reach out into the sea.

     She has told me a thousand times over that

     I am her reason for being;

     by the way she rests against my leg;

     by the way she thumps her tail at my smallest smile;

     by the way she shows her hurt when I leave

     without taking her. (I think it makes her sick with worry

     when she is not along to care for me)

     When I am wrong, she is delighted to forgive.

     When I am angry, she clowns to make me smile.

     When I am happy, she is joy unbounded. When I am a fool,

     she ignores it. When I succeed, she brags. Without her,

     I am only another man. With her, I am all-powerful.

     She is loyalty itself. She has taught me the meaning of devotion.

     With her, I know a secret comfort and a private peace.

     She has brought me understanding where before was ignorance.

     Her head on my knee can heal my human hurts.

     Her presence by my side is protection against my fears

     of dark and unknown things.

     She has promised to wait for me......whenever

     ......wherever -- in case I need her.

     And I expect I will -- as I always have.

     She is just my dog.


     


 By Gene Hill

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