Goodbye, Myra

Posted by on May 1, 2008

In Memoriam
Oscar Myra Mendoza Whitney (Myra)

Last night (April 30), our long-haired miniature dachshund, Myra escaped from the back yard.  When we realized it late last night, I went searching for her in the neighborhood and after about 45 minutes, found her across Jefferson Blvd. (a busy, highway-like street with 4 lanes).  She had been hit by a car and killed – instantly from the looks of it.

Myra has been with Eleanor and me for 14 years (9 of them before we had any children).  When Eleanor and I had known each other for just three years, Myra joined our family.  We’ve lived in five different places together, and it’s really hard to see her go.  We knew that she would die one day – maybe even soon – but this sudden, violent death is a little hard to deal with.

I thought it would be fitting to offer a Myra retrospective here.  She got her name because I insisted that if we got a tiny little dog, she would need a joke name.  Hence she was christened Oscar Myra Wienerdog – Myra for short and O. Myra on official documents.  The pictures below capture a bit of who she was.  In order, there are a picture of her as a puppy from an early 1994 webcam in my Silicon Graphics office, Myra’s glamour shot taken by a fellow student while we were in seminary, Myra on the beach, Myra the french fry (any human food, really) thief, Myra the measuring stick that tracked the growth of all three of our children as babies, and finally a white-muzzled Myra in 2008, exhausted after Johnny’s little friends went home from his birthday party.

Myra as a puppy
Myra's glamour shot by Rebecca Koos
Myra running on the beach with Steve - full speed!
Myra with a French fry box on her head (after eating the contents)Myra the canine measuring stick with baby Lydia
Myra recovering from a 5-year-old's birthday party - April 2008

Now we’ll finally have to learn how to clean up food spills around the table, and I’ll have to figure out how to keep myself company after the kids go to sleep. The house just seems a little bit darker and less friendly tonight.

Myra, you were a member of our family.  We will miss you.

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