Miss Ricki

My parents wrote me this weekend to tell me that they were going to have to put our family dog, Ricki, down. I knew it would be coming soon, - when I saw her at Christmas time she could barely walk and was having seizures pretty frequently – but still when I heard I couldn’t help but stop and cry. Like a little baby. My only regret is that I didn’t get to say goodbye when I saw her last. So I’m choosing to do it now.



Goodbye, sweet girl.

Ricki was our first family dog. In the spring of 1989, we loaded up the family and went to check out some free-to-a-good-home puppies. We brought her home where she met her adoptive parents, Ozzie and Harriet. (I guess my mom had a thing for the Nelsons) We named her Ricki (notice the “i” please don’t call her a BOY!) and fell in love with her immediately. I was 9 years old.



Ricki was so very smart. Her face would light up when we would ask her if she wanted to go on a walk. In fact, it got to the point if we even said, “walk” in passing conversation she would go sit at her leash. Eventually we had to start spelling the word, and still she caught on to that.





We taught her how to catch Frisbees. In 1993, she was named State Frisbee Champion. Her trophy hung in our living room for many years after that. She so loved to catch Frisbees that even when arthritis limited her ability to get around she still wanted to go out and show off her skills. We ended up having to hide all her Frisbees because if she found one she wouldn’t let us rest until we went outside tossed a few around. She would go for hours until her poor little body would give out.



We used to call her “Monkey Dog” because her nervous/excited chattering sounded exactly like the monkeys at the zoo. When one of us would come home after a long day, Ricki would be there oooh-aaah-aah-ooh-ing her entire day’s activities. She couldn’t wait to tell us about how the UPS man had come to visit, or how the crazy lady across the street had let her cat wander into our yard.




Ricki had a nose for water, be it lake, creek, or even large puddle. And when she found it she would bolt towards the water’s edge, and doggie canon ball right in. She would emerge with the biggest grin on her face.



Ricki was the most loyal and eager to please dog I have ever known. And in the end, I’m positive it’s what kept her hanging on as long as she did – she did not want to let us down.

When we lost Ozzie, my mom brought home a new little puppy, P.B. – who quickly became Mr. #1. Yet Ricki was content to play second fiddle. (And secretly Ricki, you were always my favorite. Sure P.B. might have been cute, but he couldn’t hold a candle to how sweet you were.) My mom tells me that P.B. has been walking around the house searching for Ricki, reminding me that we weren’t the only who lost their best bud.



I can’t imagine how hard it was for my mom and Marvin because underneath all the gray whiskers and ailments were the eyes of a puppy. You would almost forget just how old she was. To look into those eyes and have to say goodbye must have been absolutely soul crushing.

I can't understand people who tell me that they're not "pet people." The love of a pet is far-reaching and unconditional. It’s the kind of love that can know when it’s time to go - the tumors and seizures were just too much for you. It’s that kind of love that can give you your last kisses, and whisper that it’s okay, you can let go now.

I know Ricki is in a better place. It’s full of unlimited Frisbees to catch, toys to chew and leaves to bark at in the front yard. I know she is no longer is carrying the weight of a body that can’t keep up with her spirit.

We love you, Ricki.

We will miss you more than you will ever know.



Goodbye, sweet girl.