Goodbye, our sweet baby girl

"You can get a dog when you're twelve years old, and not one year sooner, because you are too young to take care of one now," mom said sternly.

When I was ten, she changed her mind.

I remember that I was taking private violin lessons at the time, and I hated them. Mrs. Ko was the meanest of ladies and had no tolerance for fingernails or poor posture, both of which I was fond of. Seeing as how I haven't touched my violin in years and years, one could say that my time there was for naught. But I would have to disagree.

One afternoon, as our car pulled into Mrs. Ko's driveway, the student whose lessons took place right before mine each week came out of the house. She was with her mom, who was also holding a small white puppy. I ran to play with the pup, and its owner told me that her two toy poodles at home had just had a litter of puppies, and that they were for sale. I asked my mom immediately if we could get one. She said no.

I did not perform well at violin lessons that afternoon.

Over the next week, I asked my parents daily about getting a dog. I showed them my Scholastic Book Fair purchase-- a picture book titled "Dogs" and read to them the excerpt about poodles:

"Poodles are the smartest dogs in the world. They are friendly and good with kids. They often win dog shows because of their obedience and are highly trainable. They do not shed, but need to be groomed. Poodles come in many different colors and sizes-- full, miniature, toy, and teacup."

As I'm sure you've guessed by now, mom and dad eventually okay'ed my request for a dog. We went to the owners' home to pick out a puppy. I remember that when we arrived, there were three puppies. Two of them were completely white, and very excited to see me. They jumped around in their cage, tails wagging. But the one I chose was slightly apricot colored, and she sat in the middle of the cage looking all cutesy. She was the smallest, and so I picked her. She cost me $100 Canadian.

And she was well-worth every penny.

Once home, I carried my new baby pup gingerly into our split-level home in Strongsville, Ohio. Mom kept telling me, "Let her outside to go pee," and I said something like, "No, she doesn't have to go right now." I placed her ever so gently onto the carpet smack dab in the middle of our living room. She peed instantly.

We spent a few days trying out different names on her-- Blossom, Violet, Daisy... we knew she loved them all since she responded to all of them with equal enthusiasm. In the end, we chose the name Findora (courtesy of Felix Lee, really).

I can say too little about how amazing Findora was. She had the best personality I have ever found in a dog, and she was the cutest. She was so sweet and friendly and happy-- and that's how we will always remember her, I'm sure. She inspired several families to get dogs of their own, and was even beloved by people who were scared of dogs ("I'm terrified of dogs.. except for Finny. She's alright.")

I never thought that she would be taken away in such a violent, terrible, scary way. But I hope you didn't hurt for long. I also never thought that this would affect me like this..

The family loved you, baby girl. Even though Felix always pretended that he thought you were annoying, he liked it when you would snuggle with him. And even though dad always claimed he "doesn't even like dogs," we all knew he always liked you best. Mom was your favorite. You were mine.

Thank you for always knowing when I was sad. Thanks for taking naps with me, and for going on walks and car rides. Thanks for always being happy, even when no one else was. I miss you already, sweet girl. Thanks for being the best for all of these years. You were so, so special.

From September of 2000 until the very last moment on May 28, 2013, you've been so incredible. And I can say nothing less for everyone who knows you.

Goodbye, Finny.

Love,
bcl.