Earlier this week—Monday morning, to be exact—I had to say goodbye to my “little lady,” Lexi.
Gentle and sweet, playful and confident, smart and loyal—she was the best dog I ever could have asked for.
I adopted Lexi on January 4th, 2013, a couple of months after I had to put down my old bud Rowdy.
I had stopped by an adoption event to check out another dog, but I didn’t quite “click” with it. I then looked up and down aisles of cages and spotted a slim and gruffy Lexi. She resembled a collie mix my family adopted in high school, and it broke my heart to see her all caged up.
Before you knew it, I was signing paperwork to take her home and introduce her to her step-brother. With classy, trashed bags littering the floor, I snapped this pic after they met:
For the next 12 years, Lexi would pretty much always be by my side—a loyal confidante, companion, and co-worker.
If you’ve read any of the articles on this site since 2013, there’s a good chance she was sitting only a few feet away, likely interrupting me for what we’d call a “doggy pet break.”
Lexi was your typical friendly dog. She enjoyed playing with toys, gnawing on chew sticks, meeting new people and dogs, kicking up dirt, sitting outside on cold winter nights watching an imaginary flock, and receiving ear rubs that would make her melt into you.
She also enjoyed bossing around her little brother, Simon, who I adopted a few years late. He seemed to enjoy it, too.
She wasn’t a fan of Furminator hairbrushes, vacuum cleaners, or other dogs sniffing around her food, but let's be honest – who is?
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Over the past couple of years, Lexi’s favorite game to play was Hide and Seek with my daughter.
I’d take Lexi into another room while my daughter would hide in your typical five-year-old hide-and-seek spots—behind a chair, in a corner, under a blanket, etc.
I’d then send Lexi on the hunt. She’d run through the house like a rescue dog searching through tornado damage, sniffing every creak, cranny, and burrow until the kid was found.
Then my daughter would run into a different room, find a new hiding spot, and we’d wash, rinse, and repeat.
As you can obviously see, Lexi was a beautiful, fluffy dog. She looked the look and barked the bark. When I’d take her on a walk through the neighborhood, it wasn’t uncommon for people to stop their cars, back up, and roll their windows down to get a second look at her—something Lexi always seemed to love.
“This is what dating a supermodel must feel like,” I’d think to myself.
Anyway, we sure are going to miss our “Little Lady.”
She was a constant, soothing presence in my life for the last 12 years, and her absence really hurts. I miss her soft fur, our strolls through the neighborhood, and even the sweet little grunts she’d make when she wanted to go outside. She made our days brighter and our lives happier.
Although I’m heartbroken she’s gone, I’m thankful that I got to be her person for a quarter of my life. Thankful she was ours. And thankful that she’s no longer in pain from the cancer that slowed her down in the end.
As I mentioned, she was the best dog I ever could have asked for.
Rest easy, Little Lady. Papa, Harper, and Simon love you.
