You “darn dog.” 

We’ll miss your sass, your energy, and your attitude. The way you were sweetly patient with the graspings of small children but would run across any road to try and settle a beef with a dog twice your size. 

We’ll miss you tirelessly out sprinting our group up or down any single track, but trotting slowly at the back on gravel or pavement with that disgusted look on your face. Like we all didn’t know that trails are better.

We’ll miss the way you used to ‘help’ your Brian clear deadfall. As trees would suddenly come alive in his hands, attacking him rhythmically as you dangled off the other end. Locked in battle. 

We’ll miss the way you’d drop your throw-toy just ever so slightly out of reach after a brutal single-speed ride. And then stare expectantly as we’d find our legs, stumble forward, and throw it. Only to find it instantaneously returned. To a new position exactly as inconvenient as the previous one. 

We’ll miss your boredom-driven antics. The way you’d just decide that the pack had received their fill of rest. The time you dragged that stick up one side of Aaron’s bike and down the other with it ping-ping-pinging off the spokes. We’ve all been retelling each other that story for years. 

We’ll miss the sideways looks you would give Brian any time he tried to get you to pose for a photo. And the way you’d cock your head ever so slightly to the side when you were asked a question as if to say “huh?” 

Thanks for all the rides and coffees. You were a great dog.