Rest in peace, Sophia Maria Conchita Gonzales.

I remember you had a few play dates with Oquirrh before you came to us.  You were cute and soft and all, but I was overwhelmed with school, and nothing could distract my love and affection for Oquirrh – my dog.  When you first came to live with us, we didn’t really click and I don’t think I understood why until we knew that you were a permanent member of our family (about a year later).  I was afraid to love you if I knew you were just going to leave.

You were Oquirrh’s foil – perhaps this difference was alienating to me at first.  Oquirrh was impulsive, pushy and loud and self-assured.  When you first joined our household you were the most timid creature I have ever met – afraid to bark, cowering at loud sounds, hiding from people and the world.  Mom always told me that Oquirrh and I were alike, and I don’t think she meant just in appearance.  I suppose my first reaction was that you were something of an intruder who took attention away from “my” puppy. 

Au contraire.  As soon as I learned that we had fully adopted you, my heart warmed and you won me over.  I was intrigued by this change in me.  And realized – you didn’t take away from (my) Oquirrh – you gave to her.  You became her best friend, and one of mine. 

You could never run as fast as Oquirrh, jump as high, or do as many tricks.  After a while, once in a while, you did begin to run in the hills with joyful abandon, instead of cowering alongside us slowpoke humans.  Watching you break free was as joyful and liberating for me, I think, as it must have been for you. 

But Oquirrh could never be as “good”, obedient, or compassionate as you.  You taught her how to slow down and how to love, I think.  (Ad in turn, you taught me how to love as well).  Or at least, to not chew up people’s shoes. 

Through all your transformations, however – learning to playfight, learning to bark at people and dogs who dared to cross our window, learning to sit on the prime spot of people’s feet under the dining room table, and learning to run free – you never lost your sweetness and caring.  You were the type of dog people dream of, the one who always puts her head in your lap at the time of need.  Oquirrh, not so much.  But she learned from you. 

One of my most favorite memories of you was just this winter.  I took you and Oquirrh on a long walk/run in the hills.  As we were leaving Perry’s Hollow, you ran off and Oquirrh remained by my side.  You had taken off on your own rebellion, something you would never have done when we first met.  I felt proud of your discovered strength and freedom. 

I see you and Oquirrh as two sides of feminism.  Oquirrh is the go-getter, do-anything-er, nothing can stop my achievement of great speeds and tricks and prizes.  She is inspirational in her strength and overcoming of odds, but sometimes, if you don’t play her game, you’re a sissy and really, just in the way.  “Give me pets, because I deserve them!”  And you, Sophie, are the submissive, chaste, docile housewife, the woman who is not afraid to be feminine and not afraid to love.  You empower others and give to the world, saying “my choice is to be a gentle girl, now just don’t exploit me or take advantage of it, if you please.  And if it’s not too much trouble now, how about a little ear-scratching?”

I love you dearly, Sophie girl, I am so sad to lose you.  I will miss your soft head, sweet nuzzles, and kindhearted demeanor.  The world is not a better place without your empathetic soul.  But what you have taught (by consideration, example, and affection), will carry on (to the best of our ability) through those whom you have touched.