In Memory of Wednesday Gigi Mokaliki Pookala

Ya'll... My dog was put down today. Wendy. My confidant. The crazy little cocker spaniel with rastafarian hair and toothpick legs. We called her "Skinny" when she was young, but with age and a steady diet of whatever she begged for, she turned into a little sausage. My brave little home girl that would bark her brains out at the biggest dogs she saw or smelled on the street and then hide behind my legs like, "What, it wasn't me, it was the other crazy sucker barking at you." Wendy, the pain in the butt. Always under foot. Barking at whatever fool thing caught her eye. One night at 3am she jumped up off my bed and took off like a rocket - a flying fury of ferociousness - barking her head off. She ran all the way upstairs and stopped cold in the living room. I followed, curious to see what-the-crap kind of crazy invader she was going to kill... and it turns out she was sleep barking. She was standing there in the living room looking at me like, "Why'd you wake me up sucker? I was comfortable." The dog who needed therapy. She suffered from "abandoned dog syndrome." We got her from the Humane Society on a Wednesday. She was a tiny little runt with these sad liquid eyes. If you ignored her, she would mope. I used to take her with me to run errands; she would sit in the car and bark at everything that moved. Crazy little Coco, who ate cheese pringles in the car for 4 days, all the way across the country from Florida to Utah. When I was leaving on my mission, Wendy and I laid nose to nose on the living room floor and had a heart to heart. I made her promise that she wouldn't run in front of any cars or eat any poison. I told her it was important that she was waiting for me when I came home. She agreed. She even remembered me when I got home. Sometimes Wendy was all I had. Sometimes she was the only one I could talk to and who understood me. I know it’s cheesy, but I loved that dog!