Sorry, this is an interruption from the usual book related programming.
Our dog, Ringo, left us yesterday. He was 14 years old, so it was a possibility we were at once expecting and ignoring, so when it happened it still came as too much of a shock. He'd been having health problems but none that we thought would be imminently life threatening.
He was a Christmas puppy for me when I was in the seventh grade, and true to form, he loved Christmas. Nothing gave him greater joy than ripping open Christmas presents, so much so that one year when we were wrapping presents, he grabbed a scrap of paper and put it over one of his toys and attempted to "unwrap" it again. When it came to his name, Ringo got it honest. He loved to run rings around us and around the house. He was never as much for fetch as he was for keepaway. Ringo always loved to be chased and loved for everyone to want whatever he had. A lot of people didn't quite get his appeal. He was a one-family kind of dog, but when it came to us, he loved with all his heart.
Through all this, I can't help thinking about taking him for walks when he was a young dog. Despite my best efforts, he'd always manage to slip his collar. I can remember one day when I was chasing him along the road, traffic perilously close, desperate to catch him and avert certain catastrophe. Chasing and yelling and crying wasn't doing the trick. Then I remembered - Ringo loved to chase almost as much as he loved to be chased. Tears streaming down my face, I did the most counterintuitive thing imaginable. I turned around and ran. Soon enough, there he was - chasing me home.
Thanks for all the joy you brought to our lives, Ringo. We'll miss you so much, but one day, we'll be the ones chasing you home.
