Nicki

I got an email from my dad last week that he had to put my dog down. Nicki was a Christmas present (in the form of a certificate) for me in 1993 as a freshman in high school. She was born in March of 1994 and we drove down to Oregon to pick her out. We had second pick, which was important since she was coming from of a litter of high quality hunting dogs.

She never disappointed, leading us to many pheasants with her nose and bloodline instinct. Her greater legacy, though, is as a family dog. She was perhaps my best friend in high school, making countless cliff-jumping trips to Whistle Lake and insisting on going for a ride even if it was only to the video store. She fetched with a passion and gave birth to three litters of puppies. She had great animosity for our cat, but was pretty friendly with Abby, her successor.

[Nick with my dad, the day before I left for Japan]

So at age 14, with a full life under her collar, death was inevitable. I figured it would happen while I was in Japan, but it’s still a tough pill to swallow. She meant – and means – a lot to me and I only wish my life was more conducive to spending time with her and Abby. But there are consequences to all of my decisions and this is one of the drawbacks to everything else that is going right in my life. I am thankful and appreciative that she had my dad to take care of her.