On November 10th, 2014, our dog passed away in his sleep. I wrote this that day for him.
You would have loved today. It’s beautiful out. Not too hot, not too cold. It’s not snowing or raining – you hated the rain. You hated being outside. We would have cuddled on the couch on your favorite blanket, snuggling up with me on the back of the couch. We would have had spaghetti for dinner, and you would have licked the plate and gotten red sauce all over your face, but you couldn’t have been happier.
Tonight, daddy would have brought home chicken nuggets and french fries for you, and you couldn’t have been happier. You were the sweetest, most stubborn best friend that anyone could have, and I loved you more than anything in the world. I love you still.
When you were a puppy, you jumped up on the counter in the kitchen of our old apartment and ate a sponge. When you were a puppy, you learned to jump so high that we had to get a second baby gate to keep you in the kitchen. You chewed up my favorite shoes, and wouldn’t sleep the first night until I pulled you up into bed with me and we slept together. We moved together to the house on Waldorf, and we slept together there. We cuddled at night and you jumped on all my friends. Soon, you moved to grandma’s house, and I went to college. I missed you every day, but I knew I would see you soon. You loved me through everything, and when I came home, you loved me still. You loved me through heartbreak and joy and mundane, average days. You loved me when we went for walks, and when I took you for training at Petsmart that summer. You loved me when I took you to see Tami to get your hair cut, and when I took you to the vet to get your shots.
Once, when we forgot that we’d taken you with us to Jeanette’s house, we left you outside. We got all the way home and realized that you weren’t there. When we called, you’d been sitting out front, just waiting. When there were no fences, I knew I could just let you out, and you wouldn’t go anywhere. You wouldn’t go in the street, and you wouldn’t stray too far off of your yard. Unless you wanted to poop on the neighbor’s lawn.
When I came home from college, you were the same dog I had left. You were full of joy and energy, and all that same love. You still hated men wearing hats, and every new guy who came into the house had to sit on the floor with you and feed you cheese until you were happy. And boy, did you love your cheese. Whenever you were sad, or did something good, you would happily take the cheese. Whenever you needed to take a benedryl in the spring when your allergies were acting up, you would take the pill wrapped in cheese, and the only way we could get you to swallow the pill was to offer you another piece of cheese immediately afterwards. You were greedy, and selfish, and you always showed everyone you loved that you loved them unconditionally. You loved peanut butter and tomato sauce and pizza.
When you met your daddy, you loved him too. You jumped on him and loved him the same way you did me. When you moved with me into this apartment with him, you settled in easily. The two of you would cuddle all day, watch tv, and sleep together, and when daddy left for work, I would come home and we would cuddle and sleep together. You almost never spent more than a few hours in your cage anymore, unless you wanted to.
You lived a great life, and after 12 years, all I can say is I miss you. I will always miss you and love you and wish you were still here. This morning was horrible, but I can’t change it now. You will always be the love of my life, and I know that no matter how many dogs I have in my life, none will hold up to how amazing you were.
Rest in peace, Kirby Jonathan Schoenherr. You’re not in pain anymore.
July 2002 – November 10, 2014