Pistol Pete

Pistol Pete, I know we did not always see eye to ankle, indeed I’m still unsure if you actually associated my feet with my person.  Regardless, to my knowledge you’ve lived through food poisoning more than any animal, or for that matter, any person I know.  If the trashcan containing the rotting chicken from the day before was your vice, your bed was definitely your throne.

You watched my sister go from a young girl, unsure of herself, her standing, and probably her friends, to a woman who offers by far more than she ever asks.  I’ll never know what secrets you two shared, but I’m unabashedly grateful that you were there for her regardless of her situation.  You were always happy to greet her, even when she had been away longer than you had ever known.  You warmed her feet, just as assuredly as you warmed her soul.

While I know you tolerated me and on occasion would actually listen to the things I said, I have a sneaking suspicion that it was only to have your ears scratched, or your belly rubbed.  Although in the past years as our family has grown up, moved out, I know that we never, and will never move on.  You were a large part of what made our house a home.

I know you would never want us to feel the sadness that we are feeling tonight, and if you were granted more years at our hearth, you would undoubtedly take it.  I don’t feel, or believe, that your life was cut short, nor could it have been richer for the experiences you shared.  It was your time just as surely as you told us “I’m going to lay down peacefully over there” and never rose again.

I’m sure that while my sister faces a sad trip home from the veterinarian’s tomorrow, she won’t be as alone as she feels.  While her humble abode feels empty and lacking, I know pieces of you will still be there.  Wherever we all may roam, there will be little bits of you that continue to float through our lives, through our hearts, and through our minds.

So long as we have the memories, you live on…forever.

Farewell Pistol Pete, you will be missed.