In Arizona, Boop was recognized and loved by kids in the neighborhood. They knew her by name and always wanted to see her. Boop spent a lot of her being too small to look over the fence, laying in the sun, and becoming an expert at catching popcorn with her mouth.

In Florida, she was either romping around the beach or watching ducks from the apartment deck. When we rescued a cat, she became best friends with her. When we gutted a van and converted it to an RV, she was there for the adventure.

In North Carolina, she was a source of comfort throughout the pandemic and a catastrophic organizing drive. She went hiking with us and sat by us when we made campfires, even when she preferred to be inside.

In Virginia, Boop had a redemption arc when our upstairs neighbors adopted two pups. Boop had been attacked by a dog when she was younger which gave her lots of anxiety around other fur babies. Reluctant at first, we eventually introduced them and they absolutely fell in love. She cared about them like they were her kids, waiting by the door for them in the morning and glancing around the corner every so often throughout the day to see if they're out and about. She was too old to keep up with them but she tried, and even when she couldn't keep up, she was ok just to sit in the grass and watch.

Because of them, Boop was able to move past her pupper trauma and make friends with other dogs by the end of life. It was truly beautiful.

Boop was there with us on our summer road camping adventure in Tennessee, with us on our trip to a massive hotel in the center of Philly, with us on our numerous trips to visit family in Georgia, and along for the ride everywhere else in between. She was always a part of it, as family should be.

Wherever we moved, she came with us. No exceptions, no matter the cost.

She loved playing tug of war while wearing her own leash and she was a rockstar when it came to catching snacks in her mouth from a distance.

Sometimes she would grab her ball or a toy with her mouth, walk up to us, and throw it on our lap if she wanted to play. One of her oldest toys was a rubber red bone.

She enjoyed making nests in dirty piles of laundry and old clothes or fancy beds and cushions, depending on how she felt that day.

Some of her favorite sounds included the refrigerator opening, bags shaking, and container jars popping. Wherever she was, she would perk an ear up or prop her head on something to turn around and discreetly look for her next snack. If she was sure enough it was for her, she would just show up in the kitchen and wait.

She loved popcorn, tennis balls, empty peanut butter jars, baseballs, and laser pointers. She loved laying in sunbeams. She was grunty, big and stinky. She was loyal, loving, and perceptive.

Boop was expressive for a dog, most evident by the crinkles on her forehead she would get when something caught her attention.

She always rode shotgun. The car was like a magical box that would take her somewhere. Usually it was somewhere fun, though every so often it would be to the vet. She didn't like going there.

We don't know why she passed and may never know for sure. One hour she was here, the next she was gone. She was not well. We had a vet appointment booked but didn't realize how bad it actually was. She was wrapped up in a blanket and comfortable when she passed, less than 24 hours before we would have taken her to the vet.

From the readers perspective, there's nothing that can really be said to make any of this better. I'm just putting this up to let others know she was here, she was good, and now she's gone.

It's a trope, but a true one and worth repeating: we never know when the last time we will see loved ones might be. Life is not predictable and nothing good or bad lasts forever.