Yesterday, Zoey The Dog fled her mortal coil. She was 17 1/4. Zoey was an extraordinary dog from the start of her life with us in 2005 through her last breath. Zoey, a French Poodle/Cocker mix (Cockapoo, as sometimes called), had been a rescue dog who, in the words of rescue groups, rescues the people who take her in. I will always remember how we picked her up in Chula Vista, CA at a person's home, where, shockingly to us, Zoey was being kept in a small cage. She jumped out to greet us, and nearly ran out ahead of us as we returned with her to our car. Her name then was Noelle, and I said, Too goyish. Although The Daughter insists she named the dog, I distinctly recall I did--as I named her after the Nickelodeon show The Daughter watched, which was a character played by Brittney Spears' younger sister, Jamie. I liked the name, Zoey, and preferred the "y" (sometimes it is spelled Zoe) to make clear how to pronounce the name. In any event, Zoey happily jumped--lots of jumping for most of her life--into the car's back seat between The Son and The Daughter, and we drove back to Poway, about 45 minutes away. Every once in awhile, I would look in the rear view mirror to see how the dog, so quiet, was doing. Each time, I saw the dog was looking forward, content, and never once did the dog look back. I said to myself, I think this dog has found her servants.
Recently, as the vets would tell us Zoey has so many ailments--including at least two cancers, kidney disease, plus a very bad heart that made surgeries impossible--there would be nothing to do if she collapsed, which she did yesterday. Hearing that each time we took her in, I would respond Zoey will find a way to 18. I would then say, when Zoey reaches 18, I will take her to the County Clerk to register her to vote. I figure she is at least as smart, and definitely more kindly than a third of Boomer voters. Our other joke, when she was younger, was in the context of how, when taking Zoey on walks in and around Poway, CA, people loved to come up to Zoey and pet Zoey. When regaling ourselves back home, I would imitate Zoey, and say to the family, "I'm Zoey! Want to feel better, stranger? Pet me." "Want to be happy? Pet me." And then I would ask Zoey, "Zoey, how would you solve the problems in the Middle East?" And Zoey would answer, "Pet me!" It remains my only regret Zoey was not called upon as a diplomat to solve the problems in the Middle East.
The photo below is from the morning we left CA for NM in June 2017. At the time we had left CA in June 2017, Zoey's CA veterinarian had worried her heart murmur was getting worse, and she would not last too long in NM. Instead, we found NM rejuvenated her. The video below is from Haynes Park in Rio Rancho, NM, about a year later as she began to slow down a bit. The video features my voice with that high pitch one automatically uses with babies and doggies--until the very end of the video, when I say "Alright!" The Wife and I were so happy Zoey was still able to run. It was only in the past year when Zoey finally showed her age, and she could no longer take walks, being relegated to the back yard where she slowly could walk around before going back to her bed to sleep. In dog years, Zoey lived to just past 120, which, in Jewish lore, was the age of Moses when he passed, and therefore an age of greatness.
The Daughter calls Zoey "A noble dog." Indeed, she was a noble dog. Zoey The Dog is greatly missed, but lovingly remembered.
