I don't want to forget...
The way you barked at me every time I playfully spoke in a British accent.
The way you talked to us to let us know how you felt about the vacuum, squirrels, and many other things.
The way you tilted your head and leaned it on us to give us a Bear hug.
I don't want to forget...
How your feet were ticklish.
How you hated wet grass and refused to go outside in the rain.
How you would try to fit into the tiniest spot on the couch and happily squish us all so you could spin three times before lying down.
How you would whimper at the squeaking noise you made when you pressed your nose into your squeak toy.
How you would whimper at the squeaking noise you made when you pressed your nose into your squeak toy.
I don't want to forget...
The way you would so gently take food from our hands.
The way you thought everyone who came to visit had come to see you.
The way you would sit in the middle of the stairs and let us know when it was time for the kids to go to bed.
The way we would have to remind you that the bunnies don't have squeakers.
The way we would have to remind you that the bunnies don't have squeakers.
The way you understood so many things we said and were always listening. Words like dinner, upstairs, bedtime and so much more, we would be talking to the kids or each other but you were the first to respond to the conversation.
I don't want to forget...
How you would wake Aliya up in the morning and when I asked you which way she needed to go you would dart from her room to the bathroom and back again.
How you would get so excited at the words car ride and bounce from door to door until we took you out to go.
How you loved to carry your giant teal toy in your mouth in a way that made you look like you had a huge smile.
How you loved to carry your giant teal toy in your mouth in a way that made you look like you had a huge smile.
How you loved to play ball and would bark for us to fetch if the ball just barely was under a chair or table.
How beautiful your eyes were and how we could see so much care and understanding in them.
I don't want to forget...
The sound of the thud you made when lying down on the upstairs floor.
The way you woke me by jiggling your collar and standing next to me each morning.
The loud tapping noise you made when scratching your ear.
The way you would move the pillows off the couch with your nose to make sure there was room for you.
The way you would move the pillows off the couch with your nose to make sure there was room for you.
I don't want to forget...
How you followed me around the house and wherever I was during the day was where you wanted to be.
How you would choose to be on the uncomfortable floor, and not your dog bed just so you could be closer to everyone.
How you knew the sound of the peanut butter lid and would come running whenever you heard it hit the counter.
How when we left the kids home alone we always told you to keep an eye on the kids and not the kids to keep an eye on you.
How you liked to eat any scraps you could find, even if you didn't actually like them, like onions. You would spit it out and then go back for it anyway.
How you liked to eat any scraps you could find, even if you didn't actually like them, like onions. You would spit it out and then go back for it anyway.
I don't want to forget...
The way you loved to be right under my feet while I cooked, lying in front of the stove and popping your head under the opened refrigerator door.
The way you would lie under the kitchen table and be touching all of us at once.
The way you barked at the sound of card shuffling.
The way when two people hugged you would come between them to be pet.
The way you knew which foods we would sneak you a bit of and the second pizza came in the door you would get excited about the crust.
The way you barked at a moose to tell us it was in the yard with your tail wagging like you saw a friend.
The way you barked at a moose to tell us it was in the yard with your tail wagging like you saw a friend.
I don't want to forget...
How you would hear the treat jar open and run halfway up the staircase because you wanted to stay in our bedroom while we were gone and not the bathroom.
How you loved to steal someone's seat on the couch and would watch them leave the room with one paw on the couch before you would jump up and lie down.
How I could simply say "Come on Bearsie" and you would get up and follow me anywhere.
How you would never go up the stairs to go to bed until the very last person climbed the staircase and you would walk with them.
How you always were the first to say hello to me when I arrived home and the last one I would say goodbye to before I left.
I don't want to forget anything about you Bear. We have no bad memories. You were nothing but good in our life.
I remember thinking before we got Yogi about how having a dog is the neediest thing you can add to your life. Dogs completely rely on you for their every need and you become their entire world to them. All a dog has is his people. However, I learned that Yogi didn't need us near as much as we needed him. He counted on us for food and water and we counted on him for joy and comfort. He was our common thread throughout our family, the one thing that we all felt exactly the same about. All five of us loved him so much. No matter what happened in our day or what was going on in life, Yogi was there making us smile and bringing us a sense of peacefulness. Often when someone was upset and they didn't want to be around anyone, they still would let Yogi in the room and his loving nature would help our tears and frustrations fade away. Yogi was our shadow. He was there with us all the time but not demanding being noticed just happy simply being apart of our family. Yogi is in the background of all our photos and his memory is in every spot in our home. He was and forever will be family to us. There are no words to describe how hard it is for us to say goodbye to such a meaningful friend but for every tear shed there is a happy memory of a giant dog whose love was ever-present in our lives and whose memory will never be forgotten.
The night we laid Yogi to rest there was a massive rainstorm. We cried together as we tried to find the words to say goodbye. It felt like the earth was crying with us as the rain poured down and we could not distinguish rain from tears on our soaked bodies. But after the storm started to fade away we saw a double rainbow hanging in the sky, reminding us of all that the greater the storm, the brighter the rainbow, and our sorrow is only so intense because Yogi was the brightest rainbow we could have asked for in our lives.
