Louie in his "Christmas sweater"

*

The flash of white caught my eye.

I was walking with a friend through the neighborhood the other day when I spotted it: the bright bolt of a dog, no leash in sight, clearly a pooch on the loose.

The dog paused, looking back at his person, who had dropped to her knees, calling him to come back. In classic loose dog mode, he simply turned and trotted away from her, not a care in the world.

I cared about the busier road behind us, and I crossed the street to head him off before he reached the corner.

When he was a just a few yards away, I recognized him as a Westie. Trundling toward me was a twin of our dear, departed Louie, a Westie we were blessed to live with for almost 15 years. Same white coat, same barrel chest, same deep brown/black eyes, even the same beige discolored patch between the shoulder blades, a sign of recently applied flea medicine.

I bent down and put my hands out, calling to him. Westies are a friendly, confident bunch, and he came right to me, letting me give all the scritches and love I could. I looked into that fuzzy face and saw Louie. My heart filled, then broke a bit.

His person arrived, breathless, saying how she opened the door and he just … took off. I laughed and told her the two phrases that stayed with me after reading about Westies all those years ago: “little Napoleons” and “not to be trusted off leash.” I added a phrase of my own: “the best dogs in the world.”

She thanked me for helping, and I thanked her for giving me a Westie moment. She scooped him up and he snuggled into her like a toddler, back feet gripping her waist, head resting on her shoulder, looking back at the world.

How many times had I carried Louie like that?
Countless.

Lou and I had a routine. Every morning I’d take him to the front yard. He’d visit his usual patch of the lawn, I’d pick up the paper. We’d then walk up to the corner, turn around, and head in for breakfast.

On his last day with us, we did the routine one more time. He wasn’t walking well at that point, so I picked him up and carried him out to his spot, then up to the corner and back. He’s been gone for over three years, but I can still feel the weight, the comfort of him.

Ah, Louie. You were such a good boy.

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*Photo credit goes to our daughter. It's one of my all-time favorites.