(I’m interrupting my Lake Placid travelogue to memorialize my dear dog George who crossed the Rainbow Bridge last week.)

George came into our lives unexpectedly, adopted with his sister Gracie after their original owner chose to give them up.

These two were the whole package, two small poodle mixes that entered our home and our hearts immediately.  We said we would “try them on” for a weekend back in 2011, but it was clear that we were ready for more pups after Penny and Farthing, our first two dogs, had died. Born in 2008, George and Gracie were young when we brought them home.

One of the first things George and Gracie did after finding their forever home was to chew apart the hassock of my wing chair.  Despite my attempts to mend it, it was eventually damaged beyond repair, though the pups enjoyed pulling out the stuffing for a while.

Of course, all was forgiven because they were so adorable. And we were very lenient dog parents, letting them up on the furniture and beds and not crating them when we had to step out. Because in spite of the mischief they often got themselves into, one look into George’s big dark eyes and all was forgiven. 

The two of them were partners in crime, but it took us a while to figure out that George was the instigator of their escapades. He was slick, the Eddie Haskell of dogs.

He would take up his post on the back of the couch and keep track of the goings-on in the neighborhood, barking whenever another dog dared to walk on our lawn.

George was a fussy eater, except when Gracie was ready to help herself to his food.  He would stand guard over his bowl while Gracie inhaled her dinner but wouldn’t eat till she came over to see if he would share.  The answer was always no.

But George’s pickiness over food was legendary. He would never accept a dog treat from any store. One sniff and he’d move on. For this reason, he kept his slim physique while sister Gracie grew quite zaftig with age.

Giving them baths was quite the experience. Since they were small, the kitchen sink was the perfect spot for a scrub, and after wrapping them in a towel, both would wriggle out of our grasp and begin a wild chase all over the house. They got nuts, running up and down the stairs, jumping on furniture,  generally acting crazy. It was a hoot.

George had hidden talents as well. One day, a mouse got into the den and was hiding under the couch, though we didn’t realize it. George stood by the sofa and wouldn’t move. When the mouse attempted his escape, George quickly dispatched the rodent. Boom! George, mouser extraordinaire.

What George loved most of all was to run. We’d take him in the fields or on the trail, remove his leash, and let him take off.  Even a few months ago, he could run faster than we could and if left to his own devices would try to find a cat to antagonize.

When we lost Gracie last year, George got quieter and as he aged, he spent more and more time napping on the couch. He began having trouble walking and his health declined.

Now that George has crossed the Rainbow Bridge, I’m sure that he and Gracie have reunited and are having a romp. George, ever the rascal, is no doubt looking for a cat to aggravate. Thank you, George, for all the love and excitement you and Gracie brought into our lives. We love and miss you both.