A beautiful soul that rests in our hearts

He came to us in the fall of 2009. All it took was one look in his turquoise blue eyes and I knew that my life would never be the same again. Woody as we named him, was a ball of chocolate fur, barely five weeks old. As I held him in the palm of my hand, I realised that I would be the only mom he’d ever know.

Woody did not waste time and got down to the business of being a puppy. If he wasn’t chewing on door stoppers, he was digging up dirt and uprooting plants. His energy was limitless and it took all four of us to keep him entertained or else trouble would ensue. We took turns to roll the ball at him as he chased it across the house. We made him jump and we made him run. We took him on walks. But right when we thought he was exhausted, and we could finally rest, he would get his second wind and be up for another round of play.

One day I took him on a three-mile walk to tire him out. The next day he wouldn’t wake up. Finally, when he did, he was limping badly. I was petrified and took him to the vet. She let me know that I had over exercised. The guilt killed me. However, after a couple of days his limp was gone.

Woody had no fear of strangers. Everyone was a friend to him, to be loved by him and he assumed they would love him in return. His curiosity often got him wandering into the neighbours’ yards through the small gaps in the fence. He was greeted with gasps of delight on the other side.

But it was the evenings that were his and my special time. He would settle by my feet and we would spend time listening to music. Neil Diamond seemed to be his favourite.

As he grew older, his adventures grew bolder. We moved to a neighbourhood that was nestled in the hills. Woody would take off exploring the hills and visiting the new neighbours, while I searched frantically for him, fearing that he would get lost. He always came back, running like the wind, the sheer joy of adventure on his face.

Years rolled by, the children grew into young adults and Woody’s adventures turned into car drives with the girls. He loved to put his face out of the window and feel the breeze flap his ears.

One day as he and I climbed the stairs to our house, I realised that he was no longer running past me. His steps were slower and more strenuous. With a sinking heart I figured that my puppy was now an old dog.

The year Woody turned 12, the children moved out to get on with their lives. His world suddenly became smaller. He was content to stare at the hills where he had once run with joyous abandonment. Getting into the car with his arthritic legs was no longer easy.

I had mistakenly thought Woody would be with us forever so his diagnosis of cancer came as a big shock. The doctor said given his age, surgery was not a viable option and it was now just a matter of months.

For the next eight months the pain worsened. The doses of painkillers kept increasing but he did not complain. From being a dog who loved food, his appetite reduced. But despite the pain and discomfort, there was not a single moment that he did not greet us with love and joy. At 12 years and eight months old, as Neil Diamond crooned on the radio, my beautiful boy closed his eyes for the last time. Where once he ran on the hills, now he flies with the angels.

WOODY DID NOT WASTE TIME AND GOT DOWN TO THE BUSINESS OF BEING A PUPPY. IF HE WASN’T CHEWING ON DOOR STOPPERS, HE WAS DIGGING UP DIRT AND UPROOTING PLANTS. HIS ENERGY WAS LIMITLESS