An Ode To Dusty Bottoms, Beloved Dog and Best Friend
In years filled with ups and downs, they leaned on each other during hard times, celebrated the good times, and through human-dog osmosis, developed the same mannerisms, too. They had the same smiles, wrinkles, eye twinkles, and salt and pepper hair, perhaps from getting into too much trouble together. So it wasn’t surprising that losing Dusty made Jenny feel like she had lost a part of herself.
Three months on, we’ve started spreading Dusty’s ashes in his favorite places, where we spent countless hours together. Dusty loved a lot of things, but none more than swimming. He would play fetch for hours, or for any amount of time you were willing to throw the stick. Every dog has their favorite spots, and for Dusty, a purebred lab from a duck hunting lineage, it was the river.
Coincidentally, my first memory of Dusty was on the banks of the Crooked, a river not far from home. We parked at a gravel pullout and as Jenny threw on her waders, I walked down to the river with Dusty, watching his excitement grow. His legs were old and stiff, but he was young at heart. The trail led us to a small oxbow with bubbly lines and clear water, perfect for fishing. But Dusty had other plans.
I found a stick and Dusty, forgetting his rear legs barely worked, jumped in before I threw it. We played until he couldn’t swim anymore, lying down on the bank next to me. For the rest of the afternoon, Jenny fished while Dusty and I napped in the dirt, lulled to sleep by the sounds of the river.
