Two-and-a-half years ago, we took a little trip to Massachusetts to visit some puppies. We fell in love with two in particular, “Mr. Dark Blue” and “Mr. Purple”.
After much discussion, and the persuasion of the youngest member of our family, we settled on Mr. Blue, but we were thrilled to know that Mr. Purple (the one I fell in love with first) was coming up to Vermont, too, to live with dear friends who we first met many years ago because we noticed — one Saturday morning when we were all at the town dump — that they had one of those crazy red dogs, too.
At the time, Phoebe (ours) and Bela (theirs) were about six months old and, once they found each other, became best friends. No one else’s dogs around here had the stamina and crazy energy of those two. A perfect match.
We knew, then, that these two new pups were not just brothers, but were destined to be lifelong pals — they’d be the two dogs left running when the rest lay panting in the grass. When we went for a walk, it was Gryfe and Lu together.
When one family went on vacation, it was Gryfe and Lu together. When the wood stove was burning hot, it was Gryfe and Lu, passed out together on the dog beds before the fire.
They had that Vizsla way of greeting each other: frantic, loving abandon. You are JUST LIKE ME! You SMELL GREAT! Let’s WRESTLE!
We lost Lu this weekend. He had been very sick for a couple of weeks and his family did everything they could to save him, but he wasn’t improving and keeping him alive any longer was only prolonging his suffering.
Gryfe and I took our usual walk today. As we are on many walks these days, we were alone. But this time, I really felt that way.