Rest In Peace, Daisy Mayhem

Daisy Mayhem Campbell

June 25, 2011 -- May 18, 2018

You came into our lives and stole our hearts.

Seven years was not nearly enough time for us to enjoy all your goofy wonderfulness. The hole you've left in going so suddenly is so big that we keep falling into it, making us cry.

Soft as a bunny, you weren't super snuggly but you wanted to be with us on your own terms. When we came downstairs in the morning, or back from a trip (no matter how long we were gone), you were always happy to see us, doing happy dances with your pink blankie or toy or a shoe, or something, in your mouth, while you'd scream and trill and purr with sheer happiness that we were with you. (Poppy always called you a cat in a dog suit.)

You loved your walks, digging up moles in the yard, chasing rabbits and squirrels and deer, and "git the crabs!" And wow, did you hate that rugby ball.

Your ferocious growls would make us laugh but you were proud that you could run off the deer, even if it was only temporarily. And any time you'd hear a noise, your "boof!" would alert us to something going on outside.

Even when you were deep in sleep, snoring and sometimes yelping in your dreams, the sound of a crinkle in the kitchen would bring you trotting into the room to see what you might score. You especially loved canned whipped cream and would come running for a bite whenever you heard someone squirting some on a pancake.

You weren't healthy, even from the start. You always slept too much, even as a new puppy, and if anything could happen to you it usually did. You had five surgeries, one severe allergic reaction, got diabetes and went blind, all in your short (almost) seven years. But defective dog we did not see--maybe because we were blinded by our love for you.

Your sweet face, with your "black lipstick," melted our hearts every time. And if that wasn't enough, you'd get a  hookin' lip and "smile" at us with your little front baby teeth.

At the word walk, you would act like a little puppy and start jumping (as much as you could) and bow and yelp and not give up until we went down the road for a sniff-sational adventure.

You also loved to take (short) car rides to drop the kids off at school or lessons. Until you went blind, you would stick your head out the window for sniff-erations, but even when you could no longer see and were afraid to lean out the window, I'd still see your little nose perched on the edge of the window, whenever I looked in my side mirror.

You died the same way you lived, with lots of enthusiasm and happiness--greeting people with a happy dance and then, literally, saying goodbye a minute later.

While we knew you wouldn't outlive us, or even live much longer, we still feel ambushed by grief over your going away. You were the best puppy ever in the whole world (and I didn't even want you, at first!), and you brought such joy and unconditional love into our home at a time when we needed it most. And maybe that is why we are so attached to you. Or maybe it's just because you were such a special dog.

Regardless, we loved you well, and you were spoiled with treats and toys and careful care and all the comfort a dog could want. We know time will make losing you easier to deal with, and we also know that God will heal our hearts and use this hurt to do good things in us. But right now, all we can see is all the open spaces that used to be filled by you.