Frisker Mochrie R.I.P.O.S. (Rest In Pursuit Of Squirrels)

Deb: Frisker is not afraid or in discomfort anymore. He was really only in distress for a total of an hour while we got dressed in the middle of the night and took him to the emergency clinic. We said our goodbyes quickly, both of us through leaden hearts and drenched eyes. It took only 20 seconds and he had his reward. His reward for twelve-and-a-half years of faithful service to our hearts.

He added years to our lives by making us sit down with him and play when we entered the house stressed. He made us laugh on more occasions than we can count and he melted us every time he picked out his toy for the day. He was even a hero. Our hero to be sure, but his sister Fanny’s hero when he saved her from drowning in the pool. Fanny had not been with us long––she was still a pup––and for him, I am sure, she was a pain in the butt. But when we heard him wailing––a sound he had never made––we ran outside to find him leaning over the pool’s edge trying to pull her out of the icy water with his paw. He was terrified of the water, which made his heroic act that much more special. I’m sure right after he saved her and she ran over to steal one of his stuffed babies for the umpteenth time, he thought, “What the hell did I do that for?” But he couldn’t help it. His instincts kicked in. And so have ours. Our instinct to stay close to home and mourn him. To give him his due. To stop our world and feel his absence.

We are following our instinct to go about our business, then break down when the moment overwhelms. Our son is a camp councilor this summer, so the poor guy is struggling with the fact that he was not here when Frisker, his boy pup, left us. We will have a little service and bury Frisker’s ashes when Luke comes home. We will put them in amongst the cedar trees where Frisker happily wiled away the hours, his snout peeking out from the foliage, his fat little arse burrowed in the cool dirt.

I just took up his bowl this morning from its spot and it was as if he had just died all over again. But with the bowl tucked away, we put another foot forward. And we focus on wee Fanny who is confused and unsure of herself. She still runs out the door, stops, turns around, barks and waits for him. She loved him as much as we did. And more than that, he was her Yoda, her role model. He was a good boy. He was a good Frisker. As Colin posted on Facebook: “He was a serious dog who brought serious Joy into our lives.

Frisker Mochrie

R.I.P.O.S.