Princess Dog

A Reign of Fifteen Years

I lost my dog eight months ago.

She was fifteen.

I've never talked about it. Never publicly mourned. Never shared her pictures.

It hurt too much.

It still does. But it's better.

I think I can do it now.

Her name was Arwen, like the elf.

When we got her we had an orange and white cat named Pippin.

He was a Fool of a Took.

She loved him. And Basil, the black cat who looked like a permanent kitten. Small, with owl-like eyes the color of sea-glass.

Basil as in “of Baker Street” or as in Rathbone, or even as in the Bulgar Slayer, not basil the herb.

I went and picked her up at the farm when she was eight weeks old. A Pembroke Welsh Corgi. Red and white.

She looked exactly like a baked potato with legs. She smelled like puppy breath.

She was perfect.

When we brought her home, the cats weren't afraid. Why should they be? She was a russet on legs.

She couldn't bear to be alone. Her little cries woke me in the night and she quickly went from a crate-sleeper to an in-my-bed-sleeper.

When I took a shower, she wept pitifully outside the tub until I picked her up and put her in. She ran in delighted little circles around the tub until she was entirely damp.

From an early age she was ridiculous.

She would “sploot”, as they call it, her front legs sticking out the front and her back legs sticking out the back, all of them so woefully short that it looked comical.

She had no tail. Born without one. But that somehow made her fluffy rump all the more entertaining. When she was happy she wagged her entire hindquarters.

A herding dog, she was always on the go. She developed something of a “patrol bark” that involved her marching around the house going, “uff uff uff uff uff uff uff” until she finally heard something worth “aroooo”ing about.

Usually a neighbor walking by the house. Or the mailman. Or the cats doing something she disapproved of. (She disapproved of everything except them sitting still. She would scold them if they were play-fighting and jump in to break it up.)

Of course, the most offensive thing you could possibly do around her was sneeze.

That incited an AROOOO of epic proportions and angry barking. Every time. For fifteen years.

She was a dog with many opinions. And she thought very highly of herself.

I often referred to her as “Princess Dog.”

She was also, despite all evidence to the contrary (the fact that she barely reached the top of my shin) an extraordinary climber.

Just as with the bed and shower, any thought of keeping her off the furniture was swiftly dashed.

But instead of sitting on the seat of the couch—no, that was for lowly mortals and humans—she would perch herself atop the back of the couch. The better to survey her kingdom.

For all her antics and shenanigans, she was a deeply loving little thing. And sweet as pie. No one who met her ever failed to love her.

Despite her attempts at guard dog work, the moment someone came into our house she felt their job was to love on her as much as possible. Not the cats—no, that would evoke a jealous bout of woofing.

The princess needed her belly rubbed before anyone could socialize.

She was a people-loving dog. She would be your shadow around the house. In many ways she stayed that puppy that couldn't be alone.

One of her favorite things was if my husband and I sat on the couch eating popcorn, and threw kernels to her.

Popcorn was one of her favorite foods. She loved eggs too. We'd often make her one when we made our own.

She loved being outside. She loved the woods. She ran faster than a dog that short has any right to, and had astounding stamina.

She never aged much, not really. She was beautiful when she was born and she was beautiful when she died. Just a bit lighter around the snout, was all.

It is difficult to watch a dog age. It doesn't happen all at once. And they can't complain the way humans do. Just… one day you notice they can't jump up onto the bed anymore.

That they're slower on the stairs.

She was already ten when my son was born. Already slowing down. But still curious about the baby. Still sweet and loving to her new family member. And still jealously advocating for belly rubs.

We got her some arthritis medicine and it was like she was a puppy again. Running around outside with my toddler.

But time marches ever on. Towards the end I was in denial. She wasn't herself. The Princess Dog who had always been our shadow was always off on her own now, usually sleeping.

The arthritis medicine no longer worked effectively.

Food became unappealing.

The loss came in stages, until she was just a shadow of her former self.

Then her legs gave out.

I sat with her for a few hours. She was in too much pain to sit in my lap, so I sat next to her on the floor while she leaned on me, giving soft kisses to my hand.

It was time. I knew it was. Fifteen was a damn good run.

A fifteen year reign of a benevolent corgi queen, coming to an end.

An elven princess on her way to the Undying Lands.

I miss her. I still do. All the time.

Even eight months later this still feels raw to write.

But she deserves this. A tribute.

To an incredibly special member of my family.