Man's Best Friend

I was planning on posting live! from the Democratic National Convention today. There was an unscheduled, highly unexpected appearance by the ghost of John F. Kennedy (and his friend, hologram 2pac), as well as Hillary Clinton's "shocking" announcement that she plans on running for President in 2016 (Bill Clinton: "Do we really want another Clinton in the White House?"), but something bigger happened today, and by the time I get to the DNC next week, The Daily Show will already be there and doing a much better job than I possibly can. Today, a friend died. A good friend. A good girl. Yes, good girl.

My friend Tony's dog, Penny, passed away today.

Tony and Jill got the dog from Tony's stepsister, who in turn had gotten her from a pound, so not a lot is known about her past. What is known is that Penny was about seven years old when Tony's sister explained that she had gotten an apartment that didn't allow dogs and asked him to hold onto Penny for awhile. Tony was apprehensive to do this, but agreed to do his sister a favor. Two years and a lot of emotional attachment later, Tony's sister came by to ask for the dog back. Tony said no. As his sister started tearing up saying what a good girl Penny was, he explained that "if I found an apartment that didn't allow dogs, you're damn sure I'd find other living arrangements." For around six years of their lives, Penny was part of the family.

Penny, in her younger years, was quite clever. More clever than a dog should be. He told me about how at one point, he and his friend were mildly inebriated and ran out of smokes. His friend held up the empty pack of cigarettes and half-jokingly asked Penny to grab another pack. Ten minutes later, she came out of the house with the cigarettes held gently in her mouth.

She also would have made a heck of a magician's assistant. She would grab coins in her mouth and spit it into your hand - which ever side you wanted, heads or tails.

I never knew the younger Penny. I just knew her as my "good old, arthritic girl." She was a sweet soul who was gentle with Tony and Jill's daughter Lily. I often play with Mooche, Tony's younger, more spry dog out on the front lawn. It broke my heart to see her try and play fetch. I will sometimes throw some scraps Mooche's way, but I always took time to hand-feed Penny.

So here's to you, Penny. We don't know your exact birthday, but we know you were around 13 or 14 years old (that's around 91 or 98 dog years). You lived a full life, but I only knew you for a couple of them. Hopefully you're gazing down at us from dog heaven, where the world is your fire hydrant. Lift up a leg and pour some out for a very good girl.

(Mooche is the one on the left; Penny is the more feeble-looking one on the right)