Wilson Zeke Dow

Wilson

“What kind of dog is that?” they’d say.  Pin headed, sway-backed, stub-legged, so low-slung that his nethers brushed the backyard grass. He cut a comic figure on the walk.  We made up names of breeds in answer; we never really knew.  But if today you ask: “What kind of dog was that?”  Ah, well, the kind that when he’s no longer there to greet you at the door with tail a-wag, your soul will sink at once. Wilson was more than a pet—he was family, a constant presence, a loyal friend who made every day brighter just by being there. Wilson had a personality as unique as his appearance. He was a dog who loved being around his people, always seeking out company and affection. He was a dog of strong preferences. Bath time? Absolutely not. Touching his feet? Not a chance. But give him fresh snow to run through or a cozy spot on the bed where he could sleep in until we woke up, Wilson was in his element. He lived life on his own terms, with a stubborn charm that was impossible not to love. For sixteen years, Wilson greeted us at the door with enthusiasm, his bark—though sometimes annoying in the moment—a sound we’d give anything to hear one more time. That greeting was pure love, a reminder that we were his whole world, just as he was ours. Wilson was the best dog, a true companion through all of life’s moments. He gave everything: loyalty, comfort, joy, and an endless supply of love.

Sleep well, sweet boy. You were loved beyond measure, and you will be missed every single day. Thank you for sixteen beautiful years.

Forever in our hearts.