I don’t share a whole lot of details here on the blog about dear hubby, my children, my siblings and other family members, mostly due to that whole privacy thing. This is the way they prefer things and I respect that. My pets, however, don’t seem to mind when I share about them and I never have to worry about saying too much, not enough or the wrong things.
I don’t call our family pets fur children like a lot of pet owners do, although come to think of it, dear hubby does refer to dear daughter’s pets as our grandchildren. For some reason the words fur babies/children just don’t feel right to me, but there is no doubt about it, our pets are family. Without a doubt they are loved deeply, pampered and yes, spoiled; but why not, right?
Recently, it occurred to me that I have written and shared a post about a little black and white kitty named Ninja and one about how an older dog is an extra special dog. But I haven’t yet written and shared a post about our middle “pet child,” Sophie.
Sophie is a liver-colored version of an English springer spaniel and a fine example of the breed. Of all the dogs we’ve had, I’d categorize her as the most “normal” one, whatever that means. Her disposition is sweet, mild-mannered yet spirited and exhibits a healthy dose of strong-will thrown in to keep us on our toes. She loves her humans deeply, but also has interests of her own to nurture and maintain. She’s not the worrier like our goldens have tended to be and, of course, keeps a close eye on everyone’s comings and goings; but at the same time, doesn’t feel obligated to stick like glue to whatever favorite human is in sight. Sophie has her own life, too, and I find myself ‘respecting’ her for this attribute.
This energetic, furry package of unconditional love is an endearing blend of cuddler, tracker, sprinter, leaper, jumper, digger (she’s dug some impressive holes in our yard), protector, and yes, sometimes barker. She is a wonderful, kind-hearted companion and it is virtually impossible to look at her “smiling face” without instantly feeling better.
And of course, Sophie was there (as was Elsie) during my mother’s illness, death and then my own cancer diagnosis. I have written about those times before, and likely will again.
When I was thinking of how best to describe this sweet, furry, four-legged member of our family, the one word that kept coming to mind was exuberance.
Sophie does everything with exuberance. She runs, springs, wags her stump-of-a-tail, tracks, eats, loves, even sleeps (she snores) with exuberance. There is no half-way of doing things where Sophie’s concerned. Whether she’s running umpteen laps around our yard, “climbing” trees attempting to get closer to those pesky squirrels who relentlessly tease her, or sleeping like a collapsed rag doll in a family member’s arms, she gives it her all.
No doubt about it, Sophie lives and loves with exuberance; not a bad way to do both.