E.B. White on Daisy

{EB White in his office at the New Yorker, circa 1955}

My very first job, at age 16, was to write obituaries for the Imperial Valley Press, the local newspaper. It was exciting part-time work to a high schooler who thought she wanted to be a journalist and since then, I've loved reading these posthumous tributes - though Flavio finds it to be a macabre hobby. I've read many an ode to the departed, but none has delighted me like E.B. White's tender obituary to his beloved dog Daisy.

"At the moment of her death, she was smelling the front of a florist's shop. It was a wet day, and the cab skidded up over the curb - just the sort of excitement that would have amused her, had she been at a safe distance. She is survived by her mother, Jeannie; a brother, Abner; her father, whom she never knew; and two sisters, whom she never liked...She never grew up, and she never took pains to discover, conclusively, the things that might have diminished her curiosity and spoiled her taste. She died sniffing life, and enjoying it."

I read it here last night and found myself misted with happy tears.  Read the whole thing - I think you'll love it.

Dogs, who remind us humans to delight in the wonders of the world, to play with intensity, to stop and sniff with curiosity, are the best.

{Photo via}