Schooner was a very special pug, with such a wonderful personality and way about him that it is difficult to describe just how much he meant to my husband and me. He was not only a very handsome fellow; he was loving and tranquil, affectionate and well-behaved, dignified and cheerful. He eagerly played the role of older brother to all the many unfortunate dogs and puppies I rescued over the past two years near my house in Mexico City. He loved to play tug-of-war and press his squeaky toys against my leg to hear them squeak, looking up at me with a bright, expectant look on his face. A slice of carrot or banana or papaya made his day. And for me, he was a constant ray of sunshine, lifting my mood with just a wag of his tightly curled tail, or the grin he made sometimes, when he was particularly pleased with himself.
Since his tragic death (apparently by poisoning ) on July 4th, memories of him come back constantly and I am reminded over and over again not only of our adventures together, of the moments that became commonplace or even banal, but also of the void he has left behind.
He gave us more happy moments than I could possibly count -- yet by dying at only 3 years old, there will
never be enough of them. I said good-bye to him on June 20th, promising to be back soon, and he died while
I was travelling, so this promise became one I can no longer keep. All that's left are the memories and the love
I still feel for him, and the enormous regret that I wasn't there when he needed me most to remind him
that he was the best dog in the world.