When we got Sophie, she was already an old lady of eight years old. And she had a big Frankenstein scar across her chest where she’d had cancer surgery a month earlier. We’re still not entirely sure why her previous owner had paid for a partial mastectomy and then gave the dog away, but there you go.
Sophie was a sweet-tempered, low-energy dog that usually looked like this:
Sometimes, particularly when someone was eating something on the couch, she would look much more cheerful.
One time, Rhias and I were out on the front lawn enjoying the sun when Sophie spotted a squirrel. This was pretty unusual for her, because she was a particularly unobservant dog. Although she loved to watch us eat in case we dropped any food, it would sometimes bonk off her head without her noticing. In this instance, she chased after the squirrel with great vigor for about twenty feet, after which she collapsed. The squirrel got away easily. This is my favorite picture of her, taken about five minutes after that happened.
A few months ago, the cancer returned. After the surgery, she had another giant Frankenstein scar and her nipples were all in random places. And she had big shaved spots on her belly and her back. The one on her back was where the anesthetic patch had been applied.
The hair didn’t grow back very quickly. And Sophie was drinking far more water than is normal for a small, inactive dog. We eventually established that the problem was Cushing’s Disease, which required an increasing amount of medication that could have side effects.
A few days ago, Sophie was outside peeing when she started vomiting. And then she fell over. We brought her to the doctor and they said her electrolytes were all out of whack, she had diabetes, and that she’d entered ketosis. That’s the dramatic fat-loss that the Atkins diet is supposed to provoke, but it’s not good for small dogs.
She was going to have to go on steroids and insulin, come off the Cushing’s medication, and maybe, after a week of treatment, she’d regain the ability to walk. Also, the cancer was back.
We said goodbye to her an hour ago. I couldn’t bring myself to be in the room when she was put to sleep, but Rhias held Sophie in her arms and felt her slip away.
Then, after her heart stopped beating, Sophie farted. It’s the way she would have wanted to be remembered.
Goodbye, sweet little doggie.



