I broke up on the way to work this morning, then a little bit a couple of times during the day as something would remind me of her. The way she would lay at my feet in the office. Or roll over to show her belly when anyone came by.
Lori and I agreed that what made Ripley so special was the fact that she was a reject. Nobody wanted her. She was too skinny, or too fat, too wired or whatever. She had been in the bottom of the barrel, known what it was like to not be wanted, and then she became our number one dog, the centerpiece of our home and our life. And while she was always nervous about that, she also had this way of passing her gratitude and love on.
Once in a while we would have friends over who would bring their dogs and the house would be filled with dogs, but Ripley would always stand out. She was never the prettiest or the most energized, but she wasn't a dog so much as she was a human stuck in a dog suit.
I sent a message around the office letting people know what happened. The response I got back was tremendous. So many people said that she was the best of the office dogs, that they looked forward to her coming in. She just had that effect on people. A couple of folks even said that they were not dog people, or were scared of pitbulls, but that Ripley was different.
She taught two things, love and devotion. And she taught them all the time, and very well. I'm a far better person from having known her.
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