I imagine that Lindsay's obnoxious spirit is entertaining all of doggy heaven right now. She is hopefully a bit thinner, but still prancing around with her buttocks held high in the air, as if wearing a bustle dress and proud to show off her rear end.
I enjoyed taking walks with Lindsay, despite her confusion about leashes. She seemed to think the leash was for walking me, and she would bite onto it and drag me all over. Eventually I introduced her to leash-less trail walks in the woods behind my parents' home. She loved this. One particular path led to a tiny private beach. When we approached the lake, Lindsay would lumber out into the water a little ways. She would sit when the water reached the top of her front legs and take a few laps at the water, smiling with her eyes and panting from the exhaustive quarter mile stroll. Here in the water she could relax her pudgy belly which eased the strain on her back. She would smile as she panted and take in the surrounding lakescape views. I would sit on a picnic table and do the same.
We took a hundred walks if we took one. My strongest memories of her will always be of these walks. Walks in the woods and in the water, and of her huge, round butt, and of her smiles.
I'll also remember her stinky breath. I completely tolerated it after she was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. I couldn't conscientiously reject her kisses anymore. For the past 6 months, I let Lindsay slobber all over my face. I would take a deep breath, fold my lips into my mouth, and let her have at it. As I exhaled through my nose (careful not to inhale while she was licking), her excited tongue tried to wedge itself up into my nostrils and taste my breath. A few times she got deep inside my nose. Even at 9 years old, Lindsay never quite outgrew her puppy phase, aside from physically. And although she was somewhat large and lumpy, her chubby girth was curvy and feminine. She was a beautiful dog. She carried her weight well, stepping buoyantly, and leaping gracefully about the blue room where we played with her toys. She didn't look quite like a miniature schnauzer should, given her extra curvy figure and the fact that we never had her ears clipped. I don't even believe she knew she was a miniature schnauzer. Her temperament was more like that of a pug, probably because she was rejected by her own mother and subsequently nursed and raised by a pug. Lindsay socialized with her faux-pug siblings before we bought her, and she displayed very puggish behaviors throughout her life, namely snorting as pugs do.
I'll miss Lindsay's loud barks and snorts. The house was silent tonight when I came home. It was strange. I'm not looking forward to waking up tomorrow. I'm not looking forward to anything really. This is pretty hard.
My dad dug a hole in our backyard for Lindsay. I think she took a piece of my heart down with her when we laid her to rest. I wrapped her in my large down blanket and my mother stood beside me as my dad shoveled the earth back over the white bundle, pausing to express hope that we might see her on the other side.
The dogs of my childhood and adolescence were easier to part with than her. She was my girl, my sweet sweet angel cream pie puff. She's been gone almost a day, and I already miss her like it's been years.
