Kismet, what can I say about you that I haven’t already?
You were a goofy dog, always a puppy at heart. You’d sometimes run so fast in the house that you’d run into a wall, but you’d always pick yourself right back up, acting as though nothing had happened. Which made it all the more jarring for me to see you in November, unable to walk without stumbling, and then seeing your condition worsen in December. But if there was one thing that was consistent about you, it’s that you were a tough dog—just as you’d pick yourself back up after running into a wall, you’d pick yourself back up after a stroke, you’d keep living in the moment even after sustaining operations from the vet, and you’d keep going as your body became steadily unusable.
If there was another thing that was consistent about you, it was that you were as sweet as a dog could be. Even when you were barely living, you still managed to poke your tongue out to lick me. That’s another thing—you made me happy in more ways I can say. Your sheer existence was a bundle of happiness, even when things were looking miserable. You were sometimes a troublemaker, and I’d sometimes get mad at you when you were whiny, but the good times outweighed the bad, and the bad times were something I could look back at and laugh. You never failed to make me smile.
Really, you never failed to make the whole family smile. Even my mom, who insists she’s not an animal person, grew more attached to you than she ever expected she would, and then some. I’m pretty sure she cried for you more than anyone! You were her study buddy, always curled up next to her on the floor while she was writing. Even my dad, who’s allergic to dogs, was willing to put up with you—you could say it was for my sake, but judging by the good times you had together, always playing around, I doubt that was entirely the case.
You were a great dog, a great friend, a great living being. I love you and I’ll miss you. <3