Gypsy

I hope everyone that went to Vegas came back and retained the ability to write. I am sorry there is no poker content here tonight. Something important happened last night and I had to write about it. Don't worry, there will be poker content later in the week.


My wife has a thing for strays. Growing up, her father saw a stray in the neighborhood and told her mother not to let my wife out of the house. He looked out the window to see my wife feeding the stray. They had a new dog.

After my wife graduated college and went to teach, she and a friend were out for a drive and were passing a farm. Near the road was a piece of farm equipment and under the it my wife saw a pile of brown, blonde and white fur. They pulled over and investigated. They discovered it was a dog - thin, abused, and covered in ticks and fleas. My wife coaxed the fragile creature out and into the car.

At her apartment, my wife fed and watered the stray. Then she slowly and carefully picked almost two hundred ticks off of the dog's head. A trip to the vet's was next. The vet advised that as abused, neglected and starved as the animal was, the best thing to do would be to put her to sleep. My wife did not agree. And during the following weeks, she nursed her "Gypsy Dog" back to health.

During the next couple of years Gypsy was my wife's best companion, became a momma dog, and growled at any man who came too close or threatened my wife. The only man Gypsy would not growl at was my Father-in-Law.

The first time I showed up at my not-yet-wife's apartment when we were dating, I met Gypsy. I was warned that she would not like me and that she would probably be put in the bedroom for the evening. I rang the doorbell and heard some of the most ferocious barking I have ever heard coming down the steps to the apartment door. My wife opened the door and Gyspy saw me. Gypsy barked, came out, smelled my pants leg and decided I was OK. I think I got a lot of brownie points that day.


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Gypsy once ate a three pound stick of Summer Sausage in less that 4 minutes.

When my wife and I got married, Gypsy used to hop up on a chair and up into bed with us during cold winter nights.

Gypsy loved "tummy rubs" and would playfully beg and pretend to nip at your hand if you stopped.

She "allowed" numerous cats to share her house.

Gypsy loved to chase anyone wearing my wife's cat slippers - but only outside, never inside.

She allowed our two little _ones to pull fur and ears and tail. She never snapped at them.

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Every year Gypsy would shed twice, once in the spring and once in the fall. Each year her coat would get more patches of white. In the last year she had trouble walking on cold days, she had cataracts and she went deaf and did not bark again. This summer Gypsy developed a tumor. She was too old to go through an operation. We tried to make her as comfortable as we could. She still insisted on coming upstairs every night, even though it took her longer and longer to accomplish as time when on. She never missed a night until last night.

My wife and I came home after dropping off the little _ones to visit with Grandma for the week. I came in through the back door and went through the house to the front door to let my wife in. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gypsy lying on the blanket next to the door. I went out to see where my wife went (she had gone to the mail box) and as I came back in, I noticed that Gypsy was not breathing. She had curled up to sleep next to the door to wait for us to come back and never woke up.



I really missed her not coming up the stairs last night.