Sophie’s Birthday

Sweet Sophie is seven today. She has lived with me all but the first eight weeks of her life. The day we (half my entire family it seemed like) got her, she was a cuddly black ball of fur. Today she is thirty pounds of energy, affection and enthusiasm.

We went to the kennel, Safari Doodles in McKinney, Texas to pick out a miniature golden doodle. Even then experiencing a bit of trouble with my left hip, I had been talked out of my dream of a full golden or labradoodle. Miniature it would have to be.

The golden pups were only six weeks old and had just wakened from a nap. They were sweet but quiet, subdued. The breeder mentioned she had one bordoodle left. I’d never heard of that cross, but because I loved the farm collies I’d had I thought border collie would be a good mix. Little did I know that she’s a mix of two of the most intelligent breeds. She can and does outwit me easily.

On the way home from the kennel

When Sophie came into the room, she was full of energy and fun. She ran, she played, she hopped in laps, but she also settled down for some loving. I remember a friend’s advice that he always got the liveliest pup in the litter (Sophie has since given me reason to question his advice).

Now at seven, she’s in middle age and slowed down some, but she still chases squirrels with a wild velocity, and her urge to see the world is undiminished—last weekend, with extra grandsons to leave gates opened, she escaped twice. Didn’t get far either time, and if you go after her with a car, she’ll hop right in. Go after her on foot, and she’ll outrun you every time.

She lives a dog’s ideal life—in all but the worst weather, the French doors to my patio are open so that she can come and go as she pleases. Most days, she sleeps on the couch, her head on a pillow. She’s found that things pick up around here in the late afternoon, so why waste energy until then? Mornings, when I wake up, she hurries to my bedside for some head-scratching and conversation, mostly about how wonderful she is. She enjoys hearing that, thank you very much.

Yes, she’s a bit spoiled, a bit demanding. When she decides she wants her dinner, she doesn’t stop barking until she gets it. But then she doesn’t eat it unless someone else is around, preferably other dogs so she can protect it. Last night, she finished her supper but there were guest dogs here, and she kept a protective paw on her dish.

You never can be too sure.

Sophie’s fans are legion, and she’s never met a stranger she doesn’t like. That worries me a bit, but I trust her judgment. If someone wicked came in, she’d know. She is loyal and protective—jumps right up on the bed to protect me from thunderstorms.

I couldn’t live without a dog, and Sophie is the perfect dog for my tiny cottage.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl!