Wishbone Georges passed away today, just shy of her fifteenth birthday. She fell asleep on my chest and left the world that way, completely restful and with her family by her side.
Wishbone was known as a wizard, as a wish-granter, and as a sage with debatable wisdom.
She ran through hedges into Narnia, almost got our mail service suspended by chasing the mail man, and was given
a range of voices by those who knew her, ranging from geriatric to wizardly to, ultimately, sort of Ratso.
Most of these voices were based on her real-life vocalizations. She whined almost every day (garnering the name "Tiny Whiny"), with noises ranging from a tinny hum to a muffled scream, and something that sounded like a cross between a muppet and a horn.
In her imagined voice, Wishbone recently (and repeatedly) came out as "bi" and successfully applied for and received a job as an assistant at a talent management company. Her qualifications (which are detailed in her Cover Letter) included "Finding the warmest spot in the bed".
Wizard, Anonymous Fuzzball, Fuzzy, Tiny, Weirdo, Teeny Tiny, Tiny Whiny, Teeny Weeny, Wish-Bun, Bun, Woman, Funny Girl, Bone, Wish, Wishy, Wishy Wishy Wishbone.
In real life, Wishbone was one of the weirdest and sweetest dogs I've ever met. She was not man's best friend- she was simultaneously feral and a Mama's boy, if that makes sense.
She clung to my heels at the dog park, rolling on her back and snapping at big dogs who tried to befriend her.
She ran ahead of us on walks like a mush-dog, almost lifting off the ground at times.
She enjoyed this second only to chasing the chickens, which made her look exhilarated.
Wishbone was obedient during baths and hair-cuts, and sprung out of the towel and across the house post-grooming, happy to be alive and so clean.
I credit her former owners for this. I also credit them with teaching her to shake hands and stand on her hind-legs for food.
Wishbone also drove me crazy. She paced and whined incessantly in the past few years, ignoring a full food dish and warm bed in lieu of racing across the room to lick Beija's empty dish. She would eat her home-made, special kidney-saving diet only grudgingly, and after being placed in front of her dish for hours a day.
Wishbone lept from great heights, ignoring the doggy steps and crashing to the ground from the bed each day.
She was kept alive mostly by human intervention, as we caught her mid-air, carried her, and kept her from killing her renal system by eating only meat (which was her greatest dream).
She was the first dog who made me step up to the meat counter on a regular basis in my adult life.
She had acupuncture, three doctors, a thunder shirt, and ten teeth removed.
I hope I gave Wishbone a good life.
I tried my very best. There were times, during the hours of pacing and whining, where I wished someone would take her away, but I knew that would only make
her more uncomfortable and anxious, so we stayed together.
She slept under the covers at night, and in a soft round cat bed during the day.
She slept next to me at the art studio, and rode quietly on road trips to the sea and the snow and the forest.
Wishbone visited the Washington coast this December and had one last hurrah on the beach.
She followed me into the shallow surf and was almost swept up by a surprise wave, but I caught her.
I stood in the way of the ocean's attempts to reclaim this small, senior child of the earth.
This afternoon I stepped out of the Earth's way and gave her back.
I let Wishbone go to sleep, so she doesn't have to pace any more.
Hopefully she will have a giant ceramic Beija bowl in heaven, and when she gets there, it will be full of meat.
Donations in her name can be made to the Oregon Humane Society, via Wishbone's tribute page.