Balm for a Broken Heart

In the past 15 minutes, Pip has:

1. Chewed up a stress ball

2. Stuck a squeaky toy in my face.

3. Attacked my son’s shoe.

4. Sat on my head.

5. Stared at my computer screen.

6. Begged for some of my ice cream.

7. Asked out a dozen times so she could go bark at a farting squirrel.

8. And burrowed a little deeper into my family’s hearts.

She’ll be a year old on the 29th. We lost Banjo right at the moment she was born in Delaware.  I think the two must have waved as they passed on the Rainbow Bridge. She patrols like him, barks (loud) like him and looks like a 3/4-scale version of him. And while they’re both Border Terriers, Pip is definitely her own dog.  Banjo wanted to always be next to you. Pip always wants to play.

Like her predecessor, she’s an alpha dog. She thinks my boys are her pack and loves to play rough with my youngest son. He was the first person she sought out when we first met her. She has been glued to him since. She likes socks, dog treats and having her chest rubbed. She hates vacuum cleaners, juicers, firecrackers and cars.  At times I think she’s a little loco, too.  (If she is, she fits into this house well.)

It’s almost Pip’s birthday, but we got the present. She taught us that you can’t replace what you’ve lost but you can keep on living.

She’s proof that a little brown dog is the ultimate balm for a broken heart.  Happy early birthday Pip. You’ve done your job well.