8/10/2004 - 1/16/2021Preparing for this day, I came across a speech titled “Eulogy of the Dog,” delivered by a man named George Vest, which I’ll quote here: “a man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. [S]he will sleep on the cold ground when the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only [s]he can be near [her] master's side. [S]he will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, [s]he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world…When all other friends desert, [s]he remains…And when the last scene of all comes, and death takes [her] master in its embrace and his body is laid in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, [her] head between [her] paws and [her] eyes sad but open, in alert watchfulness, faithful and true, even unto death.” That last part doesn’t exactly ring true, because I would always joke that if I happened to drop dead in the house, Flower would definitely eat my corpse without a moment’s hesitation. But I wouldn’t have minded it; there’s no coming between Flower and her food. And how could you ever say no to that sweet face? She never struggled to get me to do what she wanted.

But aside from that one false note, that describes Flower well, a loyal and steadfast companion, who was always there when I needed a cuddle mid-pandemic, even if it might take a snack or two to coax it out of her. (It was a fair trade) Flower, I love you like no other. I’ll miss you always.
Chris GombeskiDenver, ColoradoJanuary 17, 2021
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