First came Houdini, he was a short-haired dapple dachshund with white, gray, black, and brown patches with eyes that seemed to know things. When he was a puppy the black dots on his nose formed a Mickey Mouse head and he was obviously special. He was loyal, protective, and so smart it was astounding. Houdini could sit, lay down, stand on his hind legs, he could speak, shake his paw, left and right, he could twirl, and my favorite was he could roll over, all by my commands. He thrived on structure and routine and kept me on that as well. Houdini even rang a bell to tell us he had to go potty outside. He was clever and I was proud of his sharp wit. He loved me and was politely indifferent to just about everyone else. He was mine; from college chaos to the changes that come with motherhood, he was the constant companion I didn’t always realize I needed. For 14 years, he walked beside me through every season of life, from my early twenties until even my son was ten years old. When it was time to say goodbye, Houdini taught me what mercy truly meant. Losing him left a space in my heart that stayed empty for years. There was a gap in my side where he always nestled, it ached with emptiness, I had extra room in my chair. I needed that chair space to be taken up with his warm little body.
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