As long as we live, there will never be another Suzy.
Susan Elizabeth. Our Suzy. She was never supposed to be our dog. 10+ years ago we decided we would foster a puppy and try to help in getting her adopted out by a loving family. She was in a kill shelter, scheduled to be euthanized the same day that she was whisked away from Kentucky to Ohio with several other dogs. She arrived in a parking lot and each of the dogs were given to the waiting cars of their foster parents. We randomly and perfectly happened to get Suzy. It had been a long drive for her. Once home, she was still scared and hungry, but before she would even take a bite of food Shawn put down for her, she ran back to give him a kiss of gratitude prior to eating. What dog in that situation thinks to do that? She was special. Within 24 hours, we secretly knew we were foster failures. We were in love and she was officially a Hart / Wilkinson about a week or so later.
Over the years, she was lovingly given many names, Suzy. Sushi Bean. Sushi Roll. Su Su. Subeedoo. Subaru. Shoo Shee. Suzalini. Suzybelle. Suzy Bean, Sweet Susan. Suzy the Circus Seal (because of the way she would slide off the couch or bed, headfirst, slithering her way to the floor with her legs straight out behind her). And Susan Elizabeth (reserved only for when she had done something naughty). There are probably so many more.
We originally brought Suzy home when her first sister, Abby, was ten. They became fast friends, with Abby showing her the ropes and taking her under her wing like the mothering angel she was. Which is probably why Suzy was able to carry on that legacy when it was time for her to step up after Abby passed, and eventually, we brought home another puppy (Grizz) that Suzy could now take under her wing. And, oh, how she did. I never realized until later in her life what an incredibly mothering presence she had. Unconditional love, patience, and kindness poured from her like water.
As her final days were upon us this week, we nicknamed her the Mayor of Kindtown because it became very apparent how loved and adored she was by so many people outside of our own little family. We were somewhat surprised and eternally grateful for the outpouring of emotion and love each of us received, especially Suzy, as folks said their goodbyes to her one by one.
Looking through the pictures and videos of her life with us, it helps to lessen the sting and reassure me that most of what she found in our family was laughter, love, fun, playfulness, joy, silliness, care, and tenderness. Grief takes time, which sucks, but it's worth it to have had the opportunity to love her like we did.
Her actual passing was assisted by an organization called Lap of Love. A veterinarian was able to come to our home and help guide us all through the process, at our own pace, and with the perfect support, reassurance, and comfort we all needed. We even changed the time of the procedure when we realized that thunderstorms were possible that day and wanted to avoid any additional stress for Suzy, as there were really only 3 things she didn't like in this world...thunderstorms, firecrackers, and peanut butter (yes, peanut butter). The vet made the comment that moving the time was a really thoughtful thing to do for her, which helped us feel a tiny bit better. Dr Kiene was incredible throughout the whole thing, even crying alongside us as we said goodbye. Suzy was able to pass peacefully and surrounded by all of us with nothing but love. While it was a brutal experience, it was not a traumatic one, and I am eternally grateful to Dr Kiene and Lap of Love for this gift to us.
Now that her passing is behind us, we take on the job of simply, deeply missing her physical presence in our lives every day. There is so much about her that we love and will miss.
Her kisses. So many kisses, all the time. She was our dedicated licker and I loved it so much.
The unbeatable trail running, hiking and walking partner she was for me (I really noticed how much time we spent out in nature by the amount of photos I had of us there).
What we lovingly called her "salami tongue" (the way her tongue would curl at the end or edges when she was panting after a fun romp outside).
How she loved to play hide and seek with us (Suzy was always the first one to find us of any of the dogs).
Her hugs. Oh, her hugs. She had this unique way of sitting on her haunches and extending her arms out in front of her, almost like Frankenstein. People were initially a bit confused when she would do this, but once we explained she liked you and just wanted a hug, that's exactly what she would get from so many. If she really liked you, she'd dig her claws into your shoulders ever so slightly and pull you a little closer.
Her silly, crazy loud farts which only half the time smelled.
The way she would lure you in with head scratches and then slowly turn around and trick you into butt rubs which, if good enough, she'd twerk for you.
The way her tail would spring back and forth when she would stand on the couch and bark at someone on her sidewalk...it reminded me of a coiled door stop and I'd always do the sound effect for it, "doy-yoy-yoy-yoy-yoing!"
Her chimpanzee chirp she would do as she whined at people she loved when she saw them, or even just whined at people she'd see on the trail that she deemed to be good folks. It was her way of saying hello, showing you she was friendly, and that she just wanted you to know she saw you and liked you.
The way she was ever protective of me, placing herself in between me and others we passed on the trail, or making sure that we always walked in the middle of bridges, never too close to the edge. She was my loving body guard and I always trusted her judgment of people immensely.
How she would either lose her mind barking or whine and wag her little tail like crazy when the school bus arrived and we'd make her wait before she could run to greet Mali. She loved M so, so much.
How she would patiently and faithfully listen as M sounded out and read books to her, or dressed her up in silly clothes with friends.
The way she would sigh deeply when she became very relaxed or content with your snuggles or pets.
The way she would lay on her back on the couch, legs splayed open and one arm straight up in the air, often with a silly grin on her face. I always loved when I peeked into the living room and she was like that because I knew she was her most comfortable.
Her love of snow and sledding, always willing to hop on a sled with you, even if she always ended up bailing halfway down the hill.
Her ears, disproportionately large for her head but adorably pert and perky, sometimes crooked but always the best.
The fleshy "fish-bait" lips on the sides of her mouth that I so loved to kiss.
Her black and white speckled chest.
The mysterious extra skin on her throat that none of us knew where it came from but was the cutest piece of floppy flab you've ever seen.
She was such a hodge-podge of dog parts, a tiny head with tall ears and a rotund body with skinny little legs and feet. No clue what all the dog breeds were inside of her, but no doubt there was a gigantic heart taking up most of the space in her funny little body.
And finally, the intensity with which she would do everything. She was such an interesting mix of gentleness and empathy, as well as strength and intensity. Her love for playing soccer with us was off the charts and her tenacity as a goalie could likely rival anyone in the MLS. Even the way she would shake her toys (many times so hard that one in particular would go flying out of her mouth and across the room) or take a bite of food off a spoon was done with so much gusto you'd have to slowly work the spoon out from her teeth. It was almost like she didn't know her strength in those moments, but she also never misused her strength either. She was the perfect blend of soft and hard, tough and gentle, silly and serious...yin and yang all wrapped into one Buddha of a dog. The best teacher we could ever know.
We were foster failures. And it was the best failure of our lives. She will forever be a part of us and we will miss her deeply for the rest of our days.
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