Beethoven's Queen Sophia

I had the same best friend for almost fourteen years. Her name was Sophie. We went for walks almost every day for the first seven years. She was there for me when I hated the world and I believed the world hated me. My awkward phase didn't phase her. She protected me from those who would do me harm. A friend of mine was a friend of Sophie's. For the last seven years she slept beside me every night I spent at my mother's house. Every time I left for college, she begged me not to go and sulked after I left. When I was away we would talk on the phone so I could tell her I still loved her. She came to me when she was frightened. When I did something wrong, she wasn't afraid to let me know. We played games together, took naps together, built snowmen together (very small ones in Alabama), and dressed for Halloween together. She would play rough, but was always careful not to hurt me. When I made her play with my cats, even though she was terrified of them, she just sat there and took it. If I needed someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't judge me, someone who would keep my secrets, Sophie was always there. If you told her to look for me, she'd come running. She even rescued me one time when I was drifting away at the lake. When I wanted a hug or a kiss, she came prepared. And she could hold it in all day, because she never went to the bathroom where she wasn't supposed to (after she was potty-trained). She was my dog, and I was her girl. Even though she was a family dog and clearly loved everyone else, too, Sophie and I had a special connection. Maybe it was because we were almost like sisters, growing up together. 

This isn't to say that Sophie was perfect. She was no "My Dog Skip." We got into fights, like all friends do. There were times when she would run away from home only to be found at the Piggly Wiggly across the highway. When we put her on a diet, she would get out and eat the neighbor dog's food. She stole other people's newspapers and ate through all of her toys the day she got them (even the so-called indestructible ones). She always fought when you tried to give her a bath. She chewed up several of my Beanie Babies and would steal my socks and hide them. One time she jumped in our neighbor's pool, even though the pool cover was still on, and almost ripped through the cover. She had awful breath and didn't care that I didn't want to smell it. But her gas was the worst: she would let one rip right next to you, then leave the room before it started to stink. There was a time when I thought Sophie preferred my friend Beth to me. She didn't always sit when I asked, and very rarely stayed. One Easter morning, she ate most of the chocolate that the Easter Bunny had left before us kids were even awake. She would step on you with all 80 to 100 pounds of her body (depending on what time of her life you're looking at), and she snored like an old, fat man. She cried when you gave her a bone or a piece of bread. As Sophie got older, she got more crotchety. She started sleeping upstairs in my room (her decision!), even though she wasn't allowed upstairs. At 5:00 on the dot she would bark until you fed her. She would also bark if she wanted to be petted and you weren't doing so.

It's been nearly two years since we had to put Sophie down. Her kidneys had failed her and there was nothing more anyone could do. I remained calm as we made the decision; my mother cried and told us it was for the best. My baby brother, who looks more like a man, began to weep. I held my shaking puppy, bawling, as she peacefully fell asleep. 

Two years later Sophie is still in this house, my mother's house. Some nights as I close up shop, I can hear her following me up to bed. Sometimes I smell a familiar stench and wonder if she's just left the room because it was a doozy. I can hear her breathing, her tail beating against the furniture, her barking. But mostly, she comes to me in my dreams. Dreams where I'm doing everything I can to try and save her from terrible things, all the while knowing that I won't get to keep her. My dreams can be horrible, but when I wake up, I know that it's just my sub-conscious missing my puppy. So, I cherish the nights when I have happy dreams about her, and I smile when I hear her nearby. I know that that is Sophie reminding me that she loves me. Sophie lived for almost fourteen years, which is a very long time for a Golden Retriever. The day that Sophie died, our vet told us that a dog lives as long as the love it gets, and our love was enough to keep her around for a long time.