Sophie (2007 - 2021)

Hello Everyone,

Sophie was born in a converted horse stall on a sunny farm in the Annapolis Valley. It was a truly beautiful place, one would even say idyllic, but that is a human idea. Nature cares little for our opinions. A few weeks after she was born, the door to the stall where she and her siblings were kept was left open and another female broke in and killed half the litter before anyone could intervene. Sophie was the smallest of the survivors. She would never be physically robust, but from the very beginning, she was a survivor.

We flew her back to Ottawa in a small crate, usually used for cats, and she quickly adapted to life in the city. Always a quick learner, she house-trained easily, learning to paw me in the face in the middle of the night when she needed to pee. She was small yet, so she had to reach up with one paw, while she steadied herself with the other on the side of the mattress. I have good memories of wandering around the yard in my bathrobe in the middle of the night with a tiny dog looking for just the right spot.

We worried constantly about her weight in those early years. She was full of energy and the fastest thing in the dog park, but bone thin and a fickle eater. We tried everything to bump up her weight: butter, fat, raw food. We heard from others that she would eventually fill out as she aged, but she never did. Instead, she had the poise, dignity and intelligence of a Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and the physical intimidation of ... well, Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

When she was 4, I stopped in at the cottage with her on the way to Toronto for Thanksgiving weekend with Anna and her family. After a swim, Sophie started acting funny, like she was trying to cough but couldn't get anything out. I called a vet at his home, but was told it likely wasn't serious, and then made the drive to Toronto. Anna, an accomplished equestrian and possessed of more horse sense than that vet, took one look at her and said we needed to get her to an emergency room immediately. So, late at night on a holiday weekend, we raced through the streets of a major city to get to an all night clinic. Sophie had a twisted stomach, the procedure to fix it was very expensive. We had to decide whether to go ahead with it, or have her put down. There was no third option. Credit cards are easily maligned as encouraging people to buy things they can't afford, but in that moment, I was deeply thankful for that piece of plastic in my pocket. I slid it across the counter and we paid it off over over the next several months. If the decision to have the surgery was easy, seeing her afterwards, with tubes and stitches, was extremely difficult. I was responsible for her, and here she was, in pain and confused and I could neither help her, nor explain to her why. That helplessness hung heavily on me.

A few years later, our friends, and their dog Khaqui, moved out of the house we shared, and Sophie was suddenly alone all day, and in need of a companion. We started visiting the Humane Society, just to check it out. And that is how Arthur entered my life. From the beginning, Sophie was in every way the older sister. She kept every toy for herself, took the best spots on the couch, and made sure she got treats first. When she realized that Arthur could swim faster than her, she stopped racing him for sticks, instead waiting by the shore to grab his away as he swam in. I started throwing two sticks, in different directions, so they could each have their own. When we kept her sister, Jane, I would pile them all in the back of the car for trips to the park. Sophie ensured she had her space, even if it meant literally sitting on top of Arthur.

But there was another side to their dynamic. They were companions in every way as well. Arthur has always had anxiety, but he was never so calm as when he was with her. They also got into a lot of hijinks together, running off to chase squirrels in the park or deer at the cottage. Each one individually rarely ran off, but when they were together, they had everything they needed and sought adventures. At home, together on the couch, Arthur relaxed in a way he doesn't normally. It was pretty clear that as long as she was with him, he would be okay.

Sophie spent her later years back in the old country, amongst her people in Nova Scotia, holding court from her perch on the couch and going for walks in the park. There is a beautiful symmetry to her return there. I missed her a lot, but was comforted by the thought that she was living a happy life in the place where she was from.

Just as I couldn't explain to Sophie all those years ago at the emergency vet why I couldn't help her, I can't explain to Arthur that his companion is gone. There's a part of me that believes he already knows. I don't know if that's true, but I believe it anyway.

A writer I used to follow once had a piece about the last lesson we learn from our pets: we, and everyone we love, will grow old and die. Dogs show us how to do so with grace. None were as graceful as Sophie.

Wes

Photos

Watching me come ashore in Pugwash.

Taking flight into a snow bank when she was young.

Sophie and her sister, Jane, jumping a ditch in Pugwash.

Her first encounter with snow.

Asleep in my gym bag.

Sophie and Arthur together at the dog park.

Beautiful light at the dog park on Lemieux island. She's probably getting ready to ambush Arthur.

The day Arthur joined the family.

Arthur, at ease with Sophie.

The last time Arthur and I got to see her, on a hike south of Halifax. A beautiful place to say goodbye.