I got to know Yeppie about six years ago—I’d just returned to Korea after a year in Japan and there were still no furbabies in my life. I knew him as a sweet, smart, happy little poodle who loved attention.
I won’t go into the whole story here (for many reasons), but poor Yeppie had a tumultuous life. He was thrown out of a moving car sometime in 2007, if my information is correct. Even after his rescue, his troubles didn’t end.
Back in 2007, my life was in flux and so was Yeppie’s. I didn’t feel settled enough to offer to foster or adopt him, but a year later I was tied down with three furbabies who are still part of my family today. I don’t wish I had adopted a different dog in Bangsiri’s place, but it could easily have ended up that way.
I saw Yeppie again a handful of times between 2008 and 2011. The last time we crossed paths, I was having dinner with a co-worker and Yeppie was there in the restaurant while his mother shopped. I walked to the front of the restaurant to say hello, and she told me about the plans she was making for her future and Yeppie’s. Yeppie’s eyes were sadder than I remembered, but I thought he and his mother were both on their way to a better life.
I got some terrible news about Yeppie a few months ago and I wrote an angry blog post about the events as I understood them. Yeppie was elderly and he had many health problems, so his death wasn’t totally unexpected. But the manner of his death—as it was described to me—came as an unbelievable shock.
Now I don’t know what to think. In April I was led to believe Yeppie had died a violent death, but I may have misunderstood. Maybe his death was no more violent than what most of us will experience sooner or later. And I’m left wondering, uncomfortably, who got a better home—Yeppie or Bangsiri?