R.I.P. Silly Wally

A break from the normal bloggy festivities to say goodbye to my sister Felicia’s little cocker spaniel, Wally, who died earlier this week.

Wally was a truly ridiculous dog, in the best sense of the word. He was a comical being, everything he did was that perfect mixture of hilarious and adorkably cute that was his specialty.

Instead of giving kisses, Wally would sniff you. (Somehow, he missed the “dogs like to lick” day in doggy training class). In lieu of a sloppy kiss, he would kind of hover over you and sniff approvingly. Sniff sniff, sniff sniff. It was his way of showing love.

He loved tennis balls— had a remarkable nose for them. If you buried a tennis ball in a duffel bag in the back of the closet, he would sniff it out. The sign that Wally wanted to play ball was clear and firm. He would drop the tennis ball in front of you. Thud. (This was particularly amusing the time Felicia was taking a shower and heard the tell-tale thud. Wally had snuck his nose behind the shower curtain and dropped the ball in the tub. Hey, when you want to play, you want to play.)

Wally’s hair had a life of its own. When he needed a haircut, he looked sort of like a cross between a Wooly Mammoth, a Muppet, and the fifth Beatle. When he got a haircut, he was surprisingly slim and jaunty.

Speaking of jaunty, Wally had a good amount of energy in his day. He was quite aerodynamic, considering his center of gravity was pretty low. He liked to jump into open car trunks. However, when he ran out of energy, it was sudden and definitive. He would be in the middle of a walk and just kind of plop down. The whole world looked like a good place for a brief nap, as far as Wally was concerned.

It was hard to get mad at Wally. He was always in such a good mood, always so eager to please, so ready to play. His default state was happy-go-lucky. You could try to yell at him when he got into the trash or soiled the rug. But that little motor of a tail would get going, and resistance was futile.

Certainly the most charming thing about Wally was his complete and utter devotion to my sister. As is often the case with rescued dogs (Wally was found in Patterson Park here in Baltimore) Wally grew enormously attached to my sister. He followed her around the house. He had major separation anxiety when she left. Sometimes, if he couldn’t find Felicia, he would panic: running frantically from room to room, until Felicia would realize he couldn’t find her. “I’m right here, Wally!” she would shout.

Then, he would make a beeline to that permanent place of safety and love, by Felicia’s side.