I was there to watch your birth – the first in the litter, my first litter, the first of many litters to follow. You were the only puppy in the litter to scale the walls of your pen. At 8 weeks you took a Cirque du Soleil dive off the top of the sofa. You were athletic, you were beautiful, you had star power – finishing your Championship in just a few weekends. Unfortunately, puppies from you were not in the cards no matter how much money we spent, no matter how hard we tried.
I picture you napping in the sun on my dining room table, or outside, standing on the picnic table, peering in the front window, never wanting to miss anything. I picture you greeting me every evening when I came home from work. Your stare, with those piercing dark eyes, always telling me you wanted something: a cookie, a walk, a ride in the car, a game of tug-o-war. Always something!
Molly and Fergus, my first Irish were, in fact, my favorites, but when they had to leave, you and I clung to one another, comforting one another, both feeling the incredible pain of loss.
Darcy, I’ll never know if we waited too long….. We did our best to figure that out. We held you in our arms, smelled the sweetness of your fur, and hopefully sent you to a much better place.
Thank you for every exasperating, amusing, cherished moment of the past 13 years.
Gerry and Pat Crane