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In remembrance of Zoe, a pony-sized pup who gave us seven years of love and joy.
This is not a sad story, for Zoe never wanted to see us sad, but when she sensed that all was not well, she would clown and cuddle and snuggle and even lick away tears when it became necessary. No, I've tried to write as light and comical as Zoe herself, with some of her warm snuggliness thrown in here and there for good measure.
Our friends are still talking about how fierce she was, throwing her not-inconsiderable bulk against the door when someone knocked, while barking furiously -- and then once you were admitted to the inner circle by being invited over the threshold, she tried to convince you that she was a lapdog. A nearly-100-pound lapdog, but a lapdog nevertheless.
They also like to laugh about how she'd sit on the couch "just like a person". (Well, she thought she was.) She was large enough that she could just back up to the couch and sit down. Not a few visitors were startled by a large dog sitting herself down on the couch (feet still on the floor!) and looking over companionably as if to ask about the latest gossip.
She was also the sneakiest thief I've ever known. Imagine the meat, gone from the middle of a sandwich, without any disturbance of the bread on top or bottom.
She absolutely adored Larner's dogs. I'm not sure the feeling was mutual... (sort of like an Ent trying to befriend a hobbit, I should think)
First chapter was published some years ago as a stand-alone story, inspired by Zoe's coming into our family, but the story begged a "what came after" and, in reflecting on Zoe's life (and "Zoe" means "life" in Greek), a bit more came to me.
Love you, Jo-Jo. Miss you.
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