The final months of raising Kyndall bring to mind Dickens. It is the best of times; it is the worst. It’s the best, because Kyndall is now pure pleasure to live with — physically beautiful and cuddly without being overly needy. In public, she is almost universally admired for her calm intelligence. At home she requires little more supervision than 11-year-old Tucker.
But it’s the worst of times because the ugly reminders of her imminent departure (fittingly on Friday, the 13th of May) have arrived:
Always in the past, as our puppies’ turn-in dates approached, we received a thick envelope stuffed with forms. There are forms for the vet to fill out. Forms for the puppy-raiser to provide detailed information about the puppy’s personality and health and educational development. There are instructions on where to send the three photos that each puppy-raiser is asked to supply for the ceremonial slide show that is given at every turn-in ceremony. There are administrative boxes to be checked and SVPs to be responded to.
This year, all these forms arrived electronically. I started to fill in the boxes yesterday, but was thwarted by the quirks of the Adobe pdf forms. When I emailed a complaint, the puppy program administrative assistant kindly revised them; I’ll tackle them again soon.
At best, it’s a tedious chore, and it’s also reminding me and Steve of how soon Kyndall will leave us forever. Because she has been so easy to get along with, we’re feeling particularly sad about that.
All we can do is focus on the good remaining moments and appreciate how far she’s come. Last night our Advanced Class was a reminder. Rick, the teacher, brought an assortment of items with which to tempt the dogs: a tennis ball, a toy of the sort that you use to play with cats (something highly chase-able on a stick). At the end of the hour, he told us all to order our dogs into a long down/stay, then to walk away from them. A few of them broke their stays, but Kyndall was a princess. As usual.