Ruby was a good dog. For an adolescent pup that was going to be shot, she evolved into a fine companion and best friend. Losing her was inevitable. But as much as we we long for immortality for these friends by our sides, it doesn’t happen. The growth on Ruby’s spleen depleted her until she could take no more.
She was just 15.
Ruby loved being outside. In the heat of Arizona, she thrived. She came to MInnesota, and I worried how she cold adapt to the frigid temps of the deepest, darkest corners of winter. The concern was needless. I even wondered if there could be some Great Pyrenees in her family tree – she would stay out until you practically had to drag her inside.
As long as the themps were -5 or above.
But summertime was her favorite. She loved the yard, and was the landscape artist-in-residence. She dug herself some favorite holes. She would spend all day hunkered down in the earth.
Deep Thoughts (or Not) 