A letter to Betty the Beagle...

Betty, it's so hard without you here in this house, but I know that you're in a better place, especially given the last few days and weeks as you got skinnier and weaker.  It must be a relief. It was tough watching your health decline, having to help you up and down the stairs, coerce you eat, and god, that last night just trying to get you to drink some water out of a medicine syringe.

But I won't remember you that way. I'll remember you as the spritely, tenacious pup that you were, running with me in the park (and then suddenly stopping because you smelled something). Who would trick us for treats. Who would open the fridge right in front of us. Who would hide cheese in the couch (yes, we know about that, we caught you on video). And I was right about those scratches on the furniture, I'm glad they're there. I don't think about how mad I was at the time, I just remember how smart and sweet and persistent you were.

I know we had a contentious relationship. It was difficult for me to adjust to living with a dog--a senior at that-- having never lived with one before at all. You certainly tested my patience, and often won.

When I moved in with your dad, I felt like I had joined a cool club, the dog-owners club, joining neighbors who said hi and chatted when they were out walking their dogs. (Hey, remember that time we locked ourselves out of the apartment and had to extend that walk around Humboldt Park waiting for Dad to get home? Best walk ever, right?!)  But then I realized I was in an even more exclusive club, the Beagle club. Goodness you little guys are determined, and from what I understand, you were an elite member. And I loved you. Still do. Always will.

I was always surprised but delighted when you walked over to me (specifically to me! not Dad!) for some love. And I'm thankful you did last night, your last evening with us.

It's weird to leave the house without dog-proofing everything and making you a kong to distract you while I leave. It's going to be even weirder coming home from work without being greeted by you. This house is certainly empty without you. I even miss your snoring.

Goodbye little B, Bagel, Beagle Pants.

Enjoy raiding that fridge in the sky.