Like writing children's books, I suspect that writing obits about one's pets is one of those things a lot of people assume they can do well -- until it's time to actually do it. I am never sure I want to read about someone's pet who has died. I figure it's probably going to contain elements of endearing, poignant, funny and of course, the dreaded arc of life we are "lucky" enough to watch by outliving dogs, especially, to the extent that we usually do.
I know the writer is going to go from puppyhood to dysplasia. Worst case scenario, I'll probably read about the expectant eyes on the trip to the vet's office at the end. "Are we going to the park?" None of that sort of thing appears in this obit of a golden retriever, written by Daniel Ruth of the Tampa Bay Times, who also just won a Pulitzer for his political columns.
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"You don't find them. They find you."
Truer words were never spoken.
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