Monday was a rough day at our house.
We had to say goodbye to our Sheepdog, Louie.
He was simply the goofiest, sweetest dog.
He was the first dog I’ve ever had and our first baby, really.
This is us at Christmas in our very first little house.
We were 24 and had been married just over a year. Louie was about 4 months old.
Don’t you love our teeny little television? We had just bought our house, so we couldn’t afford a new one and just had the one from Shawn’s college dorm.
(I believe we were also using a card table as a kitchen table at the time.)
Louie was voted “Class Clown” in his obedience training class and romped like a puppy until he was about 8 years old. He was always ready to go.
When Hannah was born, he instantly became her BFF.
He moved with us to our second house and then to Luxembourg, traveling across the ocean in the belly of a plane, landing in Paris. He didn’t mind. We were his people and as long as he was with us, he was happy.
And this week, 11 years after we got him from a farm in Southern Ohio, we said goodbye.
He spent his last days like this:
We did everything we could, until the vet told us there was nothing left to do.
And so, with unfamiliar French chatter outside the door of our vet’s office, Shawn and I held and petted Louie. When the time…was right…we told him how much we loved him, what a good dog he was and said goodbye.
And then he was gone.
After school, I explained to Hannah what happened.
We had been preparing her for a few days because we knew it was coming.
Tears spilled down her cheeks and mine.
“Will God give him haircuts in Heaven?”
Of course He will.
Then she led me to her craft table, asked me how to spell Louie’s name and made a postcard to send to him in Heaven.
(Sometimes the letter “u” gets turned upside down.)
To our dear friend “Miss Ham,” thank you so much for taking such good care of Louie in the months before we could bring him to Luxembourg. He loved you and your girls so much!