This is Morticia. Morticia was not my dog, she was my sister's. I didn't know Morticia nearly as well as she knew my sister, clearly, but we had a rather special bond all the same. Our special bond was that I would make fun of Morticia. I would make fun of her for being a bit crazy and mad, for looking a bit crazy and mad, and for often acting a bit crazy and mad. She didn't know when it was appropriate barking at strangers (or people she knew), or when it was inappropriate barking at strangers (or people she knew).
My nickname for Morticia was "monster" (the word is the same in Swedish and in English). It was a loving nickname, and my sister and I would develop a running joke, or a game, where I would call her (my sister) Monster, while pretending to be talking to Morticia, or vice versa. My sister would come visit me quite often, and when she did, she would bring Morticia almost every time. I would greet them both, saying "hi Monster, it's so nice to see you... and also you, [looking at Morticia]". Stuff like that, hilarious stuff. This went on for at least the last 2-3 years of Morticia's life, and my sister and I never grew tired of it. The more lame the actual joke, the more fun we had.
Morticia was simply an excellent dog. She was the most loyal dog anyone could have asked for, she loved my sister with every breath, and that feeling was shared by my sister. Even though she was not my dog, and the loss I feel is truly miniscule compared to the loss Newman's parents feel, the excellent post celebrating her life that MSchu18 wrote, inspired me to write something about Morticia too.
Morticia never ever let go of her enthusiasm for life. When my sister and I took a walk in the woods during our yearly tradition of coming home to our parents over Easter, Morticia was happily running after sticks that my sister was throwing, and then proudly carrying said stick all the way back to our house, just like in old times. Later in the summer, again at our parents' house, Morticia was just as happy as she ever had been, chasing sticks in the woods. I guess some habits die hard.
Morticia died twelve days ago. She was 11 years and 11 months old, and as a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel with a bad hip and a very bad heart, I think it really was an appropriate time to let go. Seeing her get more and more sick over the last couple of years, as tends to be the case with this breed, was tough. The above was the last picture taken of Morticia. Below is the second to last picture, with my sister during one of her photoshoots. Morticia is looking her usual, slightly mad, self, just as I will remember her.