I often joke that Sundance took her name to heart, emulating the infamous outlaw. As a puppy, she was the rascal in the litter instigating the wrestling matches. All grown up and running the ranch, she would proudly drop at my feet golf balls from my neighbor’s putting green—when we moved I left behind a bucket of what must have been 300 balls with the incriminating indentations of Sundance, the Outlaw Golden Retriever.
Over the years, Sundance and I settled into life together like an old married couple: the daily walks along the irrigation canal, two Milk bones for desert—both for her. On a hot summer afternoon, Sundance was content to sit in the shade of the peach tree while I worked in the garden. In the winter, she’d snooze at my feet while I typed away in “our” office.
So trusting, on cleaning day she would lie on the floor, knowing I’d sweep or vacuum around her. And yesterday, before I had to drive her to the veterinarian, Sundance insisted on taking her walk, though I knew she wouldn’t make it, and I knew I’d have to carry her home.
When you give thanks this holiday, I hope you’ll include your pet. They ask so little and reward you with things that no Black Friday deal can match.
Sundance, I miss you. Save me a spot.