Tuesday, October 27


A wonderful light went out on Sunday morning. A cheerful little dog named Dudley who was much loved and is missed even more, left us.

He was fifteen and in bonus time, we knew. But we clung to the forlorn hope that he could rally in the face of a set of ailments so we could have him in our lives longer. As someone said, “A good dog never lives long enough.”

Dudley was found in a pouring rain sitting by a Houston road one day in 1995. A young woman stopped her car, opened her door and into her lap he hopped. She knew of a family who would give this large wet Yorkie a home, if his owners couldn’t be found. They had just lost their father suddenly and this little guy could help soothe their grief.

And he did. The two sisters of the three siblings lived in New York and brought him here where they would share him, a good plan for busy, social young women.

I ran into Dudley and Ensley, the older sister, on his first day in Manhattan as it happened. There began a friendship and a strong relationship as I became Dudley’s third mother, tasked with keeping him during the day. He soon was as happy and comfortable in my home as in theirs.

Dudley was a lover. He was a kisser. Slurp, slurp. And watch out because he could French you if you weren’t paying attention. He loved to eat! And he loved to sleep in the wine box beds I made for him, first here, and it proved so popular I made one for his home with Ensley. He would walk in and go straight to bed. I look over to it now and can’t believe I’ll never see him sleeping there again.
He was incontinent (that's a diaper in the photo) and had male pattern baldness late in life, poor guy. But he remained his silly, cheerful self to the end. He is missed terribly.

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