AnalPhilosopher

My beloved Sophie was born on this date 12 years ago—in a horse barn in Red Oak, Texas. Her father was an English Springer Spaniel. Her mother was a Brittany Spaniel. I brought her home when she was two months old and have hardly been apart from her since. She takes care of me; I take care of her. We've walked—rambled—many thousands of miles together, much of it in the nearby woods. Nothing stops us: not heat, not cold, not rain, not snow, not hail, not wind. We've encountered skunks, raccoons, cows, opossums, rats, squirrels, rabbits, coyotes, birds, lizards, and snakes, not to mention other dogs and the occasional cat. We've soaked up the sunlight on cold winter days. We've traversed the woods by moonlight.

Sophie was struck by a vehicle when she was a pup. Luckily, only her paw was wounded. She made a full recovery. A few years later, she had surgery on her knee, which has been gimpy ever since. She was viciously attacked by a pit bull during one of our walks. Her collar and my intervention saved her life. (I had to have stitches in my hand.) I call her my trooper, because nothing stops her. She's slower now, as I am, but no less enthusiastic. Shelbie, my one-and-a-half year old, keeps both of us young. Happy birthday, Sophie. I love you, stinker.