Indie

I've started lots of posts this week about Indie. I've edited, deleted, been unable to finish, walked away when I couldn't find the words.

I've mused on broken hearts, and puppy love, and guilt, and joy and awesome memories.
I've thought about an addiction to tennis balls, slobbery heads out car windows, a dog who couldn't sit still in the back of a ute.
I've remembered a friend who would follow you around the yard and drop at the right opportunity for a scratch on the belly. A crazy dog who rocked backwards and forwards under trees, and no vet could ever figure out why.
I've laughed at the memory of the first time she barked and scared herself. Of the fish carcass she once brought back to camp that stank the whole place out. Of the way she used to run into the surf after a tennis ball, only to start backing up as soon as her feet didn't touch the bottom.

I've shared the story of the first day I met her. The one puppy sitting in the window of a pet store, not moving, not crying, just staring at all the people rushing past. Until her and I made eye contact, and our lives together were sealed.

I've cried thinking about the way I found her on Sunday night. Lying on her side on the lawn, almost paralysed with a tiny, destructive tick sticking out of her ear. I've felt guilt and also relief at the decision we made early Monday morning. And I know she is at peace.

Indie was the kind of dog who won over cat people. She lived with lots of other dogs and was never the leader of the pack. She never hurt a fly. She sat content at your feet for hours. She wagged her tail almost constantly.

She was very loved, and will be very, very missed.