My doggie passed away in November. She was very old. VEEEEEEEERY old. Almost 18. Yup. Super old. 😉
She was the family dog. We got here when I was 15. I grew up with her but even after I moved out, she lived with my parents. She was still my doggie, as much as she was my everyone’s doggie. She was the Wonder Dog, as I had affectionately dubbed her. Near the Y2K era, she was affectionately dubbed the Millenium Dog. She was just the coolest!
When she was a feisty young pup, boy, was she hyper. ENERGEEEEE-TIC! She would hop up on your lap every chance she got. We got her from the local animal shelter. She was teeny-tiny. Fit in a large shoe box. My middle brother proudly brought her home, carrying her like a baby with her laying her head on his shoulder. My dad had approved a small dog and so my brother and my mother picked out the Wonder Dog. My youngest brother and I were delighted when we saw her and were doting on her when my dad saw her and FREAKED. “That dog has to go back. That is NOT a small dog.” We were like “Dude, WHAT are you talking about?” He said “Look at those paws! They’re huge! That dog is going to grow up to be a huge dog!” We were all like “DAD!!! No she’s not!” Outnumbered him and blew him off and kept the Wonder Dog.
60 pounds later, he may have been right, but by then, he adored her so it was ALL good. She may not have gotten to rottweiler size or anything like that, but she was a fairly decently sized “medium dog” – a-hem – certainly not the small dog he had envisioned in his stamp of approval. And while maybe only her head still fit in that initial shoe box, she was as cute as all cuteness can be and had won us all over. She was the sloppy kisses and snuggles dog that got super excited with everyone and loved to play, ALL DAY. All you had to was say “Here, girl” and she’d come running over like a nut and jump up on you, completely unaware of her own strength. It was fine with the guys – her 60 pounds wouldn’t knock them over… but back in the day… 16-year-old Antonia was merely 95 pounds (sigh) and would go flying to the ground with a happily kissing puppy licking her face. I loved the love – just did not LOVE the LOVE… you know what I’m sayin’? 🙂 My favorites were to have her chase me around the house and to blast music and dance. She would jump up on her hind legs and “dance” with me.
She actually lived with me for about 9 months when my parents first moved to Miami and I lived in NJ on my own. She would sleep on my bed with me and keep me company. Every morning when my alarm went off, she would perk up and expect her daily “Good day” rubdown… I’d pet her head, back and belly and she’d let out her little “Wrrrrrrrr” sound. After a few minutes of that, I’d hop in the shower. She knew the rules. No dogs on my cool black pleather (plastic leather thus pleather) couches. Yet, every morning, when I got out of the shower, my black pleather couches had orange dog hair stuck on them via static. One morning, I turned on the shower but for some reason walked out of the bathroom to get something from the bathroom. There was the Wonder Dog, all wide-eyed, ears up, looking all “Oh, snap!” and trying to fly off the couch as if I didn’t catch her. 😛
We went on quite a few walks a day. If it was raining, we would just run out to the curb for her to do her thing, then run back inside. She knew the routine. She would shake off right by the doorstep, then run over to the hall closet and wait, tail wagging. I would open the closet and pull out the Wonder Dog towel. It was a white towel reserved for rainy days. I’d towel her off – give her the special “Rainy day” rubdown – and, and of course, she’d let out her little “Wrrrrrrrr” sound.
Ah, Wonder Dog… we miss you, Ole Gal… Hope you’re enjoying stealing someone else’s cat’s food up there in Pet Heaven, you mischievous canine. 🙂 ❤
The Wonder Dog
Lifting Me Up 