Entrant's Name
Peter

Animal Bio
Guinness was a good dog. He left us a week ago, at just 9 years—far too soon. But really, was there ever a dog who lives “long enough”?

Guinness joined our family as a puppy, raised under the watchful eye of his older poodle bro’, Kona. A rascal in his early years, Guinness chewed underwear, the corners of kitchen towels, even a friend’s passport (sorry, again, Aidan), and once survived a dose of dark chocolate at Christmas (thank goodness for vets). Despite our best efforts, he was a skilled counter-surfer. His stomach, we joked, should one day be donated to veterinary science.

Guinness achieved infamy (Google “lost poodle Port Moody) by going walkabout at the beginning of the atmospheric river in November, 2021. He vanished for three long days and nights in torrential rain. Many in our community of Anmore searched for him day and night: a professional search team with a coonhound and bloodhound (thank you, PetSearchers), dog handlers from Coquitlam Search and Rescue, a young guy who cooked bacon through the long wet nights in hopes of attracting Guinness, hardy souls in the mountain biking community (thank you, TORCA), and family-and-friends, all who forayed into the forest where he vanished. Guinness waited out the storm until the torrential rains ended, the sun emerged, and then he emerged from whatever log he was hiding beneath. He barked at the first mountain biker to ride by, who carried Guinness across the still-flooded creek and brought him down the hill tethered with a spare tire tube (thanks, Reno). After the lessons of his vision quest, Guinness stayed close by on our daily walks along the forest paths. His misadventure is commemorated by a mountain bike trail in Anmore that bears his name: Good Dog Guinness (thanks again, Reno).

Guinness was a rascal, yes, and also the G.O.A.T.— Greatest of All Time poodle. Gentle, empathetic, and infinitely good-natured, he loved every person and dog he met. He didn’t have a malevolent bone in his body. His tail never stopped wagging. His rich brown eyes were piercing, curious, patient, and kind. He was as empathetic a soul as there ever was. He was our family, confidant, mender of broken hearts, bed-warmer, ball thief, and loyal companion.

He had a shiny silky curly coat the black, tan, and white colours of a well-poured dark beer. After a haircut, he seemed proud of how handsome he looked (thanks, Bridget and Leah). As a Parisian vet once told us, “Poodles are not entirely canine”—and anyone who’s loved one knows what that means. In his memory, we think his beautiful face is ideally suited to adorn a can of beer.

Good dog, Guinness.