Scott Bremner

It was a strange experience coming home, opening the door and hearing…nothing.

Not because my wife and kids weren’t nearby, that happens all the time.

No, what was strange was not hearing the ba-dah-dah, ba-dah-dah, ba-dah-dah of padded feet coming down the stairs.

No matter what the mood or the weather, the problems at work or the worries waiting at home, that sound of my yellow lab coming to greet was as sure a bet as there was in an unsure world.

That is, until that moment.

We lost Sophie to illness this week; she had become so anemic from a still yet unidentified cancer that to carry on was becoming cruel.

Losing a dog at 14 or 15 after the kids had grown was one thing; losing a dog barely four years old otherwise in the prime of her life was something else.

It truly was like losing a member of the family.

Some call it love.

Some call it a learned response that resembles affection because animals attach to places where they can get food and water.

But she was there, at the door every day, tail wagging and ears up.

If she wasn’t glad to see me, she sure as hell made it look as if she was.

In the quiet moments when I was alone reading she would jump up on the bed to hang out and nap.

When it thundered outside she would come and literally sit on my feet, trying to get as close as she could without physically crawling inside my clothing.

Was she like having another child?

No, not really.

But she was my friend.

And she was my family.

I predicted that it would take my wife several weeks to get through the grieving process before looking for a replacement but instead it was only a matter of days.

She wasn’t about to stand around doing nothing while there was this gaping hole in our children’s lives.

So I came home not to the patter of feet on the stairs, but the whimper of a tiny pup about the size of my hand.

Penelope is not a lab and not even yellow.

The cats think she’s from another planet.

And while she will never take Sophie’s place she will inevitably carve her own in the Bremner home.

And the day will come when I come home and she will be there, tail wagging and ears upright.

And if she isn’t glad to see me, I’m betting that she sure as hell will look as if she is.