Layla

Layla

The chaos embodied in the littoral zone around her was wide and deep, constantly flooding us with challenges.

She destroyed more CDs,  books, and remote controls than we remember.

Perhaps a closeted Bee-Gees fan, she chewed into unwatchable splinters the second DVD of Scorsese's Bob Dylan documentary No Direction Home. Her penchant for nibbling away at books forced us to use a child fence to cordon off the library room in our house. 

Left at home, she would find an unattended trash bin and spread its contents on the dining room floor for us to find when we returned.

All the doors to the bedrooms had to be shut, all small plastic objects put out of harms way, last minutes checks done for books within reach of her jaws, whenever we left the house.

Her Pit Bull jaws could tear up any doggie toy.  Her step sister Maddie would play with a squeaky toy for days;  Give Layla a few minutes with it behind Maddie's back and it would be reduced to a jumble of quiet fluff.

She didn't like the swimming pool, but on long jogs in the Phoenix heat, she would happily jump into a local pond.  She was scared of you if you wore a new hat or unknown boots.

Her louche personality charmed visitors, after scaring them with her bark and her method of saying "hi" by grabbing their fingers with her mouth.

She loved being upended, sitting up on her rear on the couch, and accepting belly rubs.  She knew: shake, other paw, high five, turn, and down.  All of which she did to get her treats.

She enjoyed playing up against the scampering energy of a friend's Min Pin while also laying quietly with us on our bed at night.

Our dog Layla. I miss her a lot.

---SPSmith