March 2, 2001 is forever etched in my memory.
Dave was working on an ambulance in Santa Clara county.
I was working in a cubicle in Foster City.
We had just moved into our first house.
He called telling me that he and his partner had just come across a litter of puppies.
His partner was taking one, the rest were already claimed.
Except for one.
A clumsy little guy with gigantic paws.
That had already been returned once.
I asked what breed.
He told me.
I said no way.
He said ok.
Then we hung up.
Then he called back.
And I caved.
And I'm so happy I did.
He was our first baby.
He taught us so much about life, parenting and sacrifice.
And replacing couches. And dining room chairs. And sheetrock. And sod.
He grew to be kind, loyal and so patient.
The best dog for our family.
He endured tea parties.
And was often a puppy school teacher or student.
Or the ringmaster of a faux circus.
He loved our girls.
And they loved him.
I have peace with the fact that he lived a full life and left without suffering.
But our house is so quiet this morning.
And we are sad.
Thanks for being the best dog ever, Kobi boy.
We miss you so much.