Zero Wright, aka My Baby Dog
Gotcha Day: May 24, 2003
Forever in my heart: October 22, 2026, at 3:21 a.m.
I will always be grateful to your Uncle Bob, who rescued you from an abusive and neglectful home and brought you to that Memorial Day party. He brought you into my life, and we went on to share more than 23 years together. Thank you, Bob, for giving my Baby Dog a chance to be safe and loved.
For all those years, I had the privilege of being your mom, bestie, groomer, caretaker, servant, maid, butler, walker, carrier, defender, protector, referee, and the person you came to when you wanted to be held.
You had your standards: filet mignon and filet mignon treats only. And you could never have too many “woobies”: blankets, comforters, duvets. The more you could burrow under, the better!
Your favorite plan was going. It didn’t matter where or how. Car, truck, boat, side-by-side, Harley, or horse, you were always ready to roll, car seat or not.
Wherever Mom was going, you were going too.
You leave behind your sister, Diesel Wright; your big black-and-white hooved brother, Lil Man; and your brother, Buddy Wright, although you would have firmly denied any relation to that overgrown feline.
If Buddy got close, you were always ready to take him on, as long as Mom/Referee was within arm’s reach, of course. If Mom wasn’t close enough, you suddenly became really good at keeping your distance and pretending you hadn’t seen him.
There are far too many favorite memories from our years together to fit into one tribute. But the moments that melted my heart the most were the quiet ones: when I held you and you rested your little head on my shoulder, or when you pawed at my shoulder or hand because you wanted my attention and a cuddle.
Those were the moments when everything else could wait. My Baby Dog needed his Mom.
I will always love you, Zero. Being your Mom was a privilege and an even greater blessing. I miss you. I miss your little head on my shoulder more than any words can ever say.
Love, Mom, aka Your Human
