I don't know what I can say about all of this. But I do know that my heart wants to unburden itself of the sadness and pain now associated with that little face. Soupy Muir. Jeez, I can barely write. Soupy belongs to Josh, in the same way that he belongs to her. They are in love with each other. And so inseparable that I did not, could not, was not even allowed to consider, taking her with me when I left. Even though it broke my heart to leave her. 3000 miles now separate us, on these last days. I am always aware of this distance but never more so than now. Soupy is dying. And Josh is wreaked. But he will give her everything that she needs, even a swift and painless death when that time comes. I strain toward them, stretching my heart across the distance, touching his back with the palm of my hand, whispering into her shiny black fur, oh Soupy, you're so soft.

When I think of Soupy, I will not remember this time. I will remember a little jet of black, faster, smarter, more agile than any other dog on the beach. I will remember her racing ahead of the bikes, tongue lolling to one side, eyes wild as she proudly looks back at us over her left shoulder. I will remember meeting her for the first time. It seemed she was no more than six inches wide but tall for her age. She sat and stared at us and I heard her voice, her measured, Gothic, droll teenage voice say "Hello Parents." Well, hello Soupy, and goodbye my love. My love. My love. My love.

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