She made friends everywhere: For a couple of years, I worked part-time at a doggie daycare. Winnie and Daisy would often accompany me to work. There was a 150-lb Mastiff that some horrible owner left to live there for two years. Her name was Stella and she had major aggression issues. I was one of the few people who could feed her and give her medicine. She was not allowed around other dogs. One day, I took her out of the kennel to introduce her to Winnie. “She’s mine, Stella,” I told her. “Please don’t hurt her.” A couple of minutes later, I heard a noise and turned around to find Winnie chasing this massive beast like they’d always been best friends.
She loved to stand up in the car. Before I upgraded to an SUV, Winnie would stand in the backseat for an entire car ride with her head on my shoulder. People in cars passing us on the highway would laugh.
She was an attempted murderer: Last fall, Winnie and Daisy became obsessed with killing an entire nest of rabbits in the backyard. One day, a baby bunny was trying to make an escape. He tried to jump the fence instead of go under it. He missed and went right into Winnie’s mouth. I yelled at her and she let him go, but was mad at me all day about her missed opportunity.
Winnie and Daisy couldn't be separated. When I took the girls to Petsmart for baths, they refused to be separated. They would tear down the kennel separators to get to each other. When I came to pick them up, they’d say, “Are you Winnie’s mom?” And Winnie would tear down the gate herself to get to me.
She would take a dip in any water she could find. A few years ago, Alisa helped me take the dogs to Bark in the Park, a festival for doggies. It was only April but it was over 100 degrees. The dogs had a watering hole tent, filled with recycling bins to drink. That wasn’t good enough for my water lover, who climbed her entire 80-lb self into the recycling bin, splashing it everywhere. She even did a little doggie paddle in the bin.
She loved me. When Winnie was still being crate trained, I somehow left the bottom latch open. When I got home, she’d made herself a nest of my dirty clothes to sleep on.
She was so maternal. She mothered Daisy, Alex and a smorgasbord of dogs I’d bring home from doggie daycare. She was tough, but firm, and the queen of our house.
Winnie hated to take selfies. Every time I tried, she would lick my face. So we ended up with a lot of photos of my face and her tongue.
She was an early riser. Winnie would always get up before me and stand by my bed and stare at me, stalker-like, until I would get up and let her out. If that didn’t work, she would sigh heavily until I complied.
She could take out a power suit. There was a weird woman who always wore a business suit to the dog park. One day, she wore a white suit. Winnie covered it with muddy puppy prints.
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