Loved pet remains in heart

"She never said a word, but I know how much Pepper loved us. And more so, I know how much we loved her."

Pepper was our German Short-Haired Pointer for more than 10 years. On December 15, 2003, Pepper was laid to rest. She suffered a broken leg, and the doctor found tumors near the break. Her pain is gone, but Pepper will not be forgotten.

How can she be? Pepper was treated better than most dogs and surely better than some people. She was as much my sister as is my biological sister, Lauren, although she was never seen with a cell phone in her paw or a towel around her newly dyed hair.

Pepper was my mom's cooking pal and my step-dad Steve's snacking pal. When my brother, sister and I were gone, Mom and Steve always had Pepper to keep them company or to comfort during a thunderstorm, something Pepper feared immensely.

I'd like to take this opportunity to write Pepper a letter of love, gratitude and reassurance.

Dear Pepper,

How's life up there? Are they feeding you well? I'm sure you have lots of room to run around. I bet it's weird being friends with the squirrels and raccoons after chasing and barking at them for so long.

Christmas was weird without you around. Everyone says hello and sends their love, though. Things are much quieter without you. I had some meatloaf tonight and almost called your name for you to eat what I didn't finish.

Mom's doing much better than when we said good-bye. I found some pictures of you that are now up around the house. I even gave her one blown up for Christmas. It's with you sitting beside her while she's making her beans. Another picture shows you standing on your hind legs with your front paws on the counter next to Steve.

I helped Mom gather some of your things to take to the Humane Society. They appreciated your leashes and blankets along with the gates and stuffed animals, at least the ones you didn't tear apart.

We gave your wicker basket to Bailey across the street. She barked hello. The spot where it sat in the kitchen has been swept up and now has a small table and the birdseed for your feathered friends outside. The "A Spoiled Dog Lives Here" sign sits behind the cans of seed.

You've left us with some great memories, Pepper. The way you tore apart the empty boxes of pop, sometimes even getting your head stuck inside.

The way you protected the missing candy hidden in the couch, not letting anyone even walk into the same room as your buried treasure.

The way you went absolutely nuts whenever you smelled a car ride or when someone came in with a white take-home box from a restaurant. You knew it would sit in the fridge for a few days and end up coming your way.

Some things about you still baffle me. How did you manage to get into the kitchen garbage even after Mom drilled the can to the cupboard? How did you convince Mom and Papa to get a king-size bed, so you could fit better, only to snap at them when they moved in their sleep? How were you, a pure bred hunting dog, afraid of a gunshot and even the strike of a match?

When you actually did eat the food bought for you, a dog, why would you not eat from the bowl unless the bottom of it was covered with food? A spoiled dog definitely lived here.

Well Pepper, I need to get going. I'll do my best to keep your memory alive, though. Perhaps I'll join Mom in her early morning baking and drool all over the floor until something falls my way. I've never resorted to scratching my rear end on the carpet when it itches, but I may give that a whirl.

Then I'll find the lone spot of sunshine peeking in and lie in it until someone comes in or rattles the cookie jar.

As much as I love and miss you, some things I can't partake in, however. The whole drinking out of the toilet thing, I'll leave that up to your species.

Steve's a great guy and all, but eating off of his spoon isn't for me, either. And I certainly won't sit in the bathroom with Mom while she reads the paper.

Thanks again for the fun times and all of the unconditional love, Pepper. You were one of a kind and will forever be remembered. Wet noses and licks to the face from all of us. Scott Deininger is a stand-up comedian living in Shorewood. His work and e-mail address can be found via his Web site, www.ShaveYourHead.com

 

01/04/04