Whiskers

Born on the farm

Biscuit was born on a small family farm in Vermont, the runt of a litter of seven. The breeder said she was the first to open her eyes and the last to stop nursing — stubborn from day one.

Coming home

We picked her up on a Sunday morning. She slept the whole drive back curled on a folded sweatshirt, and cried the first three nights in her crate before deciding the foot of the bed was hers.

First trip to the lake

She would not go past her ankles. Spent an hour barking at her own reflection. By the end of the afternoon she was paddling after sticks and we could not get her out.

First birthday

One year old. A peanut butter cake from the bakery on Elm Street, a new tennis ball, and a very dignified party hat she tolerated for exactly four minutes.

Moving to the new house

Our first house with a real backyard. She did three full laps of the lawn before discovering the back fence had a gap she could squeeze under. We fixed it that weekend.

The great escape

Fireworks spooked her on the Fourth of July and she got out through an open gate. We found her at 2am sitting on the porch of a neighbor three streets over, being fed cheese.

Last trip to the lake

Same lake from when she was a puppy. She didn't swim this time, just waded to her chest and stood in the cool water with her eyes closed for a long while. We let her stay as long as she wanted.

Goodbye

She passed peacefully at home, on her favorite blanket, with all three of us beside her. The vet was kind. The house has been quieter since, but it's still full of her.