Goodbye, puppy.
My dog died. Heart failure. Mom took him for a walk, he came back breathing hard and heart racing. She called me, in tears, as soon as she got home from the vet's. At least he didn't snap in half, as dachshunds are wont to do.
He was more my brother's dog -- he was only 10 or 11 years old, I never had nor wanted a childhood pet -- but he was a good dog, and could count to three; Dad always gave him three treats, and if anybody gave him less than that he'd look up at them and do the sad-puppy face until he got the third.
I'm a godless heathen, so I won't ask you to pray for my dog, but I am married to an Irish baroness, so my humble request is that you pour a double of your favorite drink and toast to Bandit.
He was more my brother's dog -- he was only 10 or 11 years old, I never had nor wanted a childhood pet -- but he was a good dog, and could count to three; Dad always gave him three treats, and if anybody gave him less than that he'd look up at them and do the sad-puppy face until he got the third.
I'm a godless heathen, so I won't ask you to pray for my dog, but I am married to an Irish baroness, so my humble request is that you pour a double of your favorite drink and toast to Bandit.