"Libby Libby Libby on the
label label label.
You will like it like it like it
on your table table table!"
is what my brother, Matt, and I would cheer in our sing-song voices, stirring our oatmeal and eating our toast. Its melted butter soaking into our teeth.Libby was our dog.
It sounds so strange to hear myself say that...
It was the first snow of the season,
when we got her.
"Mom! Mom! Can we get it please? Can we get it?" My brother and I cried out in unison.
"Not right now." She said, while loading up grocery bags into the trunk.
We sat in the car and sulked in our disappointment, while she finished loading. After getting into the car, she turned to us and said, "Go see if it's a girl. If it is, we can keep it."
My father would later come home to this running, barking, licking, chewing, rolly-polly furball of a little thing. He pretended to be mad, but we knew better.
For, it was he who gave her her name:
Libby was a bad dog, but we loved her despite her mischief. Just as she loved us despite our flaws and quirks.
At some point in her lifetime, she ate Christmas ornaments, drank algicide (*a highly toxic pool chemical), and once, gotten into a box of fundraiser candy bars (*12 king size candy bars to be exact).
She was hit by a baseball bat (my brother) and a tennnis racket (myself)--Both accidents of course.
We've seen her run away countless times, coming home with ailments varying from vomiting and convulsions to pregnancy.
One of which my parents kept, Shanahan. He followed her everywhere, including on her runaway escapades. These adventures would eventually lead them to notoriety.
"Loose Dogs Run No More!" is what the front page of the local paper scribed, and it was our dogs that they were talking about. A large photo was printed under the headline; Libby's eyes, a menace.
She was a rebelious dog. She blazed her own path, and she really didn't follow any sort of discipline...
But she came home to us. She loved us. She snuggled us when we were ill and gave us kisses when we wept.
She was there, a silent source of unfaultering comfort, in the darkest days of our lives.
And now, she reached the end of her life. She's to leave us. It's her time, but it's not easy letting go. That's for sure.
Her wagging tail, her perky ears,
and her bark
will be forever engrained in the deepest place of my heart.