Home is a happy dog

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Our dog Kawika passed away last summer, old and in poor health but still bright-eyed and happy. One morning he nuzzled and gave us a lick, and went to lie in the warm sun, surrounded by familiar sounds and smells. Later, when I checked on him, Kawika was gone.

Since we decided on a simple Christmas -- didn't everyone? -- we went to the humane society and looked at dogs. A part-boxer with a doleful face bounded up to the fence, demanding attention. An hour later, she was riding home with us.

"What will we call her?" my wife asked.

I looked back at the dog, and she looked at me. "Sophie," I said, rubbing her muzzle. "She's a Sophie, because we didn't choose her. She chose us. Sophie's choice."

Sophie licked my face.

--Burl Burlingame

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