(no subject)
When we got him, we had that typical bout of indecisiveness that comes with trying to choose a name for a living creature. For several weeks, we just labeled him with the rather pedantic "puppy" and rationalized that we could choose an name any time. Of course, by then, he started to answer to "Puppy." To save him from the fate of a goofy name, we shifted that to "Guppy."
In retrospect, that was probably goofier, but it suited him. Noble and dignified he rarely achieved. Most of the time his nose was to the ground, following whatever scents he could, no doubt making up for his lack of sense otherwise. He loved fetch and chase and tug and all the games dogs do. He was a notorious murderer of stuffed animals and never met a squeaky toy he couldn't silence.
He had a voracious appetite and could wolf down a bowl of chow like nobody's business. Double time if you put tuna-can-water on it. Cheese and salami was his favorite treat. Once, he ate an entire box of chocolate turtles and showed no ill effects. Not surprising, given the fact that he once digested a good third of a pink, plastic Frisbee.
Between the times when he smelled like a freshly washed dog and when he stunk like he rolled in something dead, he carried an odor not unlike a bag of Frito corn chips. We had him for 13 years and he was an old, happy dog. A good, good boy.
He died today and I miss him already.