Last week we lost our youngest family member, Jeffrey “The Dude” Lebowski. Duders. Duder Boy. El Duderino, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing.
Sometimes there’s a dog - and I’m talkin’ about the Dude here - sometimes there’s a dog who, well, he’s the dog for his particular time and place; he fits right in there. And that’s the Dude, in Voorhees, New Jersey.
Named for the title character in The Big Lebowski, never, perhaps, has a dog so much embodied his namesake. Thirteen-and-a-half years, and he was playful, energetic and happy-go-lucky until the day he died. He loved food, naps, belly-rubs, walks and, one naturally assumes, bowling. He had a way about him that was just, to use the parlance of our times, “chill.” He wasn’t the smartest of dogs, but I dare say I’ve ever met a dog who was better than the Dude at living the good life on his terms, takin’ ‘er easy for all us sinners.
There is a hole in our hearts where the Dude used to be. That dog really tied the room together - tied our family and friends together - and we will forever miss him.
Sometimes there’s a dog ... #TheDudeAbides