Together again...

Well, sometimes coming home isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Everything went smoothly with yesterday's travel back home, and it was everything I could do not to try to burn up the 60 miles from Durango back to Pagosa -- I even managed to turn left when I hit Highway 160 (toward Durango to go pick up some groceries), instead of right, toward home.

When I got home, it was apparent that Ming Toy, our Pekingese companion of almost 9 years, who had shown signs of increasing age in recent months, had taken a dramatic turn for the worse. I'll do us all a favor and spare the details.

To make an unpleasant story short, Ming is gone. I like to think he's romping in some kind of canine afterlife, in a better place -- where the water is always clear and cold and the treats chewy and tasty -- no longer afflicted with poor sight, bad teeth, impaired circulation, and stiff joints, and running with the others: Max and Sasha, and the several others who've brought joy and companionship and love into our house.

Ming entered our lives in 1996, a few months after Natalie and I went down to Houston as the advance contingent to support my new job down there. He was wandering around the apartment complex, and I took him in temporarily, sure that someone would make it known that their little ball of grey fluff had gone missing. But there were no such announcements, and indeed, when a woman called to say that Ming might be her dog, I went to meet her hoping he wasn't. He wasn't.

How old was he when we found him? Who knows? The vets disagreed. The first vet we took him to said he was maybe 2 years old; a year later, a second vet said he was closer to 5.

Ming got his name in honor of a Peke -- or, rather, a series of Pekes -- owned by a friend of my parents, and a feistier (or more ill-mannered, depending on your point of view) collection of dogs you could not find. It seemed an appropriate name.

Over the years, the one "signature" move I'll always remember Ming for was the way he ran.

Have you ever followed a car on the highway and noticed that its front and rear wheels were not aligned? Well, Ming was a little like that: he'd run kinda sideways like that and impart some body English as he did so. In addition, he would seem to rock as he ran, his little body pitching up and down as his legs propelled him along. It was very funny.

Ming was a quiet dog -- then again, pretty much all of our dogs have been. When Ming barked, it meant there was certainly something to bark at, for example, an elk raiding our flower patch or just standing out in the yard. One time, I recall, Ming was on the verandah barking for all he was worth at this huge elk -- who must've weighed the equivalent of 300 Mings, at least. The elk simply turned his head and disparagingly looked at this puny source of annoying sound. (I know, because I was standing motionless inside the French door that leads out to the verandah.) As Ming continued to bark, I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. The elk saw me emerge and, in an impressive display of physical prowess, was gone in a flash!

Well, if I had never seen a self-satisfied Pekingese before, I saw one right there. Ming just about glowed with satisfaction, and I could tell he felt like a giant at that moment.

Ming was a very friendly dog, always on very good terms with Baby, our often less-than-friendly cat, as shown in this picture.

I will miss him.

Cheers...