I was a senior in high school when she came into our family. It was a busy time full of college visits and “lasts” and making memories and soaking up my cushioned, blessed little life. It was a random post-church trip to the mall, like so many before it, and yet it changed the course of our family for many years to come. Ironically, she snagged Dad’s attention first. We’ve always been a family of dog lovers, but he’s the toughest nut to crack – at least outwardly – and she melted him into a pile of goo. It prompted a return trip with the full family, and I think I will always remember the details of that particular scene. They brought her from the back so that I could hold her and she was so excited that she was literally wiggling with glee, her entire body writhing with joy, 15 or so pounds of exuberant, precious slobbery puppy. I struggled to hold onto her and she smothered me with kisses and looked right at me with those soulful eyes of hers. I was a goner. We all were.
She rode home with Matt and me in my car, alternating between our laps, and her tail never stopped wagging for the length of the ride. To be honest, I’m not sure it’s ever stopped in all the years since we first met her. It was the beginning of our new family, and we were forever changed. Sydney Brock took her place in our home and our hearts, and she’s never wavered since.
I close my eyes and it all comes back: she slept on her back on my brother’s blue carpet while we played Super Mario, her legs straight in the air with her head tilted sideways. She cuddled next to me every single night, molding her own perfect spot just behind my knees. She ran “psycho circles” in our huge fenced-in backyard, tearing up and down the stairs with abandon. She shredded stuffed animals with glee, learned to sit and lie down (and eventually to shake, give high five, stay and a few other fun tricks), greeted us with full body wiggles and kisses and snorts every time we got home from school.
I’d lean over the edge of the couch to talk to Mom in the kitchen and she’d pop up right beside me, paws thrown over the sofa cushions. She’d tear through snow, run circles through discarded wrapping paper and ribbon at Christmas, sit quietly at our feet while we watched movies, knowing popcorn was coming her way.
She’s never been big on other dogs, but she’s also never met a person she didn’t love and to this day, she charms vets and groomers and strangers and neighbors alike.
She saw both Matt and me off to college and was always waiting at the door to welcome us home for visits. She’d be so excited to see us that she’d actually whine and cry and we had to greet her outside because she inevitably peed just a little. She’s seen us through other transitions too: cross country moves and marriage and the addition of my own two fur babies with whom Syd has an “I’ll tolerate you but she was mine FIRST!” sort of relationship. So many changes, so many transitions, so many moments; she’s been right there for all of it.
Our girl is fifteen now; her muzzle and chest and paws are littered with gray. Her walk is slower these days, more purposeful. She can’t really hear us anymore, but you better believe she knows when her people are nearby. She has trouble seeing too, but I like to think that she naps on her cozy little bed and just dreams of the fun we’ve had since she joined our family.
It’s been awhile since I’ve seen my sweet girl, and I need to get home soon to give her a big hug. While time’s passing certainly shows, I’m always thrilled to glimpse a little of that puppy spirit that we’ve loved for so long.
Happy birthday, sweet girl (and sorry I’m a little late in posting this).
Sydney/Syd/Puppers/Sitney/Siddy-Siddy-Bang-Bang/the Beast/Puppers the Beast/Sydney-Bocker – there will never be another quite like you, and we love you fiercely. Thanks for the love and spirit and fun and grace you’ve brought to our family all these years. I hope we’ve given it back to you in spades.

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