To the Best, Weird, Sweet, Cute, Goofy Dog Ever

Dear Vespa,

You were the best Dog.

Sure, everyone says that about their dog, and, you know what, it is true every single time. Every dog is the best dog, and we count ourselves blessed for having you in our lives for the past 12 years.

I still remember the first time I saw you. Our friends were fostering you, and it was love at first sight. When Abby and I met you, we immediately hatched our plan. First, get our friends to agree to slow-roll the adoption process and delay any possibility that someone else would rescue you. Check. Second, work on Momma. Start talking about another dog and then have her "happen" to see you when you "happen" to be at soccer practice with our friends. We were not looking to add another living being to our already crowded apartment, but to no one's surprise, your sweet face would not be denied. You came home with us, and our world has never been the same.

FTR Momma was on to us from the beginning.

You were all English Bull Terrier: teeth like a landshark, an egg for a head, and the personality of a three-year-old in a dog suit. You tranced under bushes like a bully, you were stubborn on walks like a bully, and TBH, not all that smart like a bully — but you were simply sweet as can be. Thank you for the therapeutic cuddle sessions where secrets were told, tea was spilled, and so much stress and anxiety were absorbed. At one time or another, from one family member to another, you saved us.

Oh, sweet girl, you were also the goofiest dog in all the ways.

First, we apologize for taking you camping the first week after you came to live with us. You were so pissed. You had been found wandering in a forest, and what did we do? We took you right back to one. You spent the entire time curled up on a dusty camping chair near the fire, cursing us with your eyes.

But soon we came to learn that you were not like other dogs. What kind of dog does not like walks? Time after time, you would lie down in the middle of the street and play dead, refusing to budge. The number of times an exasperated family member returned home carrying your 30-pound, smug puppy face back from a walk is too many to count. See below.

And since you didn't like walking, we never understood why you bothered bolting out the front door. Sure, a few times you went gallivanting around the city, but nine times out of 10, you either forgot what you were doing or got tired, and we found you at the neighbor's house sniffing dirt. Um, we have dirt here, silly girl.

I hope there are no skunks in Dog Heaven because I'm pretty sure that, despite two clear, direct, painful, and stinky messages, you still don't understand that the white-striped creatures in the backyard do not want to play.

Also, not sure what you have against houseplants, but coming home to the carnage was disturbing. Why on earth you felt the need to drag a plant through the house like you were looking for a place to hide a body, creating a trail of potting soil and leaves, we'll never know.

Oh, also in Dog Heaven, gravel is probably not food there either. Say it with me, our sweet canine garbage disposal, "Gravel is not food."

This may not be an issue, but you know how lying in the sunshine for hours on end makes you hot and panty, I am going to wager that moving out of the sunshine will cool you down in Dog Heaven too.

We were never sure why, hot, cold, rain, or shine, you loved your bed in the garage over all other beds, but you do you. Wherever you are snoring this night, I hope you have the garage all to yourself. Just remind the concierge that Vespa only does memory foam dog beds. Also, using the 3rd person always works.

All this goes to say that, despite your weird ways, you always won our hearts and our attention. Your most significant victory, other than having a mattress with a payment plan option, was somehow weaponizing your walk aversion to the point that, when the rest of us went on a walk, you were pulled along in a wagon like a boss.

A happier dog has not been seen since.

And finally, while doctors, family, and especially Momma had much to do with my healing from Covid, you, Nurse Vespa, played a huge role in my recovery. You did save my life in many ways. When I was having a hard time breathing, you were there to calm my nerves. When I was frustrated by the pain that would not stop, you were there. When I started to feel better and wanted to move before I should, you were there, like right there, there on top of me.

We humans tend to give dogs a lot of credit for sensing when there is stress in the room, so I don't know if you sensed that you needed to be present differently during those months, or if you were taking advantage of seemingly unrestricted and unlimited bed and couch time. Whatever the motivation, I am so glad you were there.

Oh, sweet Vespa, my heart hurts as I write this.

We are going to miss your zoomy galluping, your happy chuffs, your sounds of chasing something in your sleep, and your sweet, sweet, sweet heart-nosed, goofy face.

We knew our time with you was getting short. You were slowing down and finding it increasingly difficult to navigate the world. I am so glad that I was home and got in a good cuddle the night before you died. I hope you remember what I have been saying to you these past months and what I said to you during what turned out to be our final cuddle, "Vespa, my sweet baby girl dog, you're the best dog and I love you."

Rest well, sweet baby girl dog. I hope you have plenty of naps in the shade, that you get to be on the couch whenever you want, and remember, the plants are not out to get you, gravel is not food, and skunks are not your friends.

You really were the best dog.

Dad