Sonny, you were our magic boy. It had been seven years since I lost my beautiful Yapka, and you came to me many times in those minutes between sleep and waking to let me know it was time to look for you and bring another dog into my life. It took a few months, but finally I found you on the San Diego Humane Society website. I remember having lunch at Nati's with my neighbor Janice who said, "I'll go with you." So, we went. You were scared and bewildered and wouldn't interact with us, but I knew you were the one. I brought you home to our little place in Ocean Beach where my last boy had left this world all those years before. You had no idea how to climb the stairs to our second-floor apartment, so we had to carry you. We sat on the couch and let you have your space that first evening. It took you a few minutes, but you slowly came alive. Tentatively, you walked over to us, your tail low but wagging softly, as if to ask, "Are you my forever home?" You were a blank slate, and all your experiences lay ahead of you. And no wonder--your last people gave you up because you were "the yard dog" and they had too many dogs. In those early days with us you would only do your business on dirt ground, so I imagine your whole world up until now was a dirt yard. We were privileged to open the world for you. Sonny, it was a joy to watch you unfold over the following days, weeks, months, and years. You were a happy, independent fellow who took pleasure in his toys, loved to chase his tail, and when feeling ecstatic, spin in backward circles as you did your zoomies in the big yard of our new house. Remember the first time we took you to Dog Beach? You ran down to the water's edge, so excited, and immediately began spinning in circles. You made us all laugh. It's as if you had been here before in another life and were overwhelmed with happiness to be here again. Sometimes I wondered if you were Yapka, returned to me, only you wanted to be a blond and have a Daddy this time around. Sonny, we really appreciated that you had very few bad habits. You were a terrible humper, though. Anytime you were off leash with other dogs you would select an easy target and then humping would ensue. Very embarrassing for us but you didn't care. You also earned the moniker, "Sharknado," because instead of taking food nicely you would lead with your teefers and snatch it out of our hands. You weren't always a good listener. You'd rather do what you wanted to do. But overall, you were a calm, dignified, easy-going boy that got along with everyone. Everyone loved you. Sonny, you were our international dog of mystery. We are so glad we were able to give you the experience of long road trips to the Pacific Northwest. You loved riding in the backseat of the Tundra, head out and window and wind in your fur. You and I both particularly loved Vancouver. You looked so proud and smart as you practically pranced down the boardwalk of English Bay. You took your rides on the little blue ferries in stride, sitting next to us on the seat as we chugged up False Creek. You took to hotel elevators once you realized that if you stared at the door long enough it would eventually open and we'd all escape. Although you loved the city life, you also loved running on the beach at Kalaloch, on the Olympic Peninsula. Remember the time you came across the carcass of a sealion? Or when you ignored us calling you because you just had to run across the beach to investigate what was apparently a man sitting in a beach chair trying to enjoy the ocean? That man was sure startled when you ran up on him! I know you loved the evenings in the cabin in front of the fire after the adventures of the day. Sonny, I hope you can forgive us for bringing home the little potato we named Bardi. Even as a puppy, Bardi was a spaz and a brute. We're sorry he'd chase you, pulling your tail and barking and growling in his little puppy voice. We're sorry he grew to outweigh you by 30 lbs. We're sorry that activities were curbed because Bardi was too much of a handful. But Bardi adored you. You were his big brother. I know you loved him in your own way. Remember how you felt compelled to lick him dry every time he got wet in the rain? And how you tolerated him when he wouldn't give you personal space? He was your shadow and you were his captain. He missed you terribly when you left. Sonny, you only became dearer to us as the years passed and we began to call you our "Old Man." You got a little stiffer and a little hard of hearing and your eyes began to dim. When Daddy brought home his left-over French fries from work lunch every Friday you went from catching them midair to staring at the ground in front of you as you waited for them to drop. I had to take you and a much younger Bardi on separate walks. Even when at the great old age of 15 you wanted your walk, no matter that we walked at a snail's pace. You never wanted to turn around to head back. I had to be the voice of reason. Sonny, I will never forget the day we had to let you go. I knew that I could never let you spend your last moments on earth in a vet office--a place that always made you scared and nervous. I made sure of that. You were in your home, with all of us around you, and you knew you were loved. We still miss you, will always miss you, our beautiful, darling Old Man. We will love you forever.

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Sonny's People Parent(s), Rebecca and Carson, would appreciate knowing you have visited their Sonny's Memorial Residency.

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