In Memoriam, Horsey

Yesterday evening, my parents called to tell us that their Westie Hobson had died. This situation is particularly difficult for my parents and us since Hobson has been a part of so many of our family's memories. We adopted Hobson around the time that I was 15, and I remember clearly the day we brought him home: he followed me around as if I were the one who needed to show him the ropes. He since came to favor my parents, mostly because they sat with fleece blankets in the evenings. Hobson loved fleece blankets; he also loved to go for walks, chase squirrels and bunnies, attack fat cable men, get his belly scratched, launch himself at khaki panted in-laws (sorry Mike), eat cookies, chase his stuffed toys-especially his monkey, pose for mom's endless photoshoots, play with Nikki, take afternoon naps in the sunshine and lick his paws. In fact, during his lifetime you would scarcely hear me call him "Hobson," it was more likely "stoplickinghobson!"

Hobson was sensitive to our feelings, as most good dogs are. When we would cry, he would simply curl up next to us, never to leave until we had stopped. He would also share in our laughter, scolding us when the joke had not yet been made clear to him.

Although at times it did not appear so, Hobson loved our other Westie Nikki. This fact became even more clear when Nikki died two years ago. Since that time, Hobson would cry at us unexpectedly as though he were telling us that he remembered her and wanted her back. So we held him closely, knowing all the time that we wanted the same thing.

It is truly difficult to lose your pets, as I am coming to find. Somehow, they weave themselves into the interstices of your everyday life. You come to call them friend, companion, and comforter. They follow you when you walk out of the room, and you become aware of that presence only when they are no longer there. They come to hold nicknames, alter-egos, and carve distinct personalities for themselves: Hobson was horsey, hobbyhorse, little $@^#, bubby, honey, the list is endless. They are excited when you come home, they listen when you speak to them (unless you are commanding them), they warm you when you are cold, they create a lifetime of happiness and memories.

To my parents, for whom this is the hardest, Hobson loved you with an amazing abundance, and you loved him the same way. You will miss him, to be sure, but he resides with us in our memories.

Goodbye Horsey, we love you!