My Second Post-- In honor of Caesar
We had a dog pass away on us and so I have to give him his own entry.
He was taken into the hospital earlier last week, and that's where he stayed fro a few days before passing away. The problem was that I wanted to see him once before he died, and I didn't. I just hate the though of him dying in a cold sterile animal hospital without one of us near-by. I would have preferred to do what I did with Wanda and hold him in my lap as we put him to sleep.
But I missed my chance to see him, and hearing he was gone was a shock-- especially since my mother simply announced, "Oh, he's dead" after I asked about him. My mother is just like that. It's not a bad trait, she loves her animals, just she moves on faster than the rest of us.
Caesar was a loving boxer. The things I remember about him are his gentle large brown eyes, the way he would wait behind the younger dogs when I walked in the door at my parents and then jump up on me with his front paws as if giving me a hug (even though he was probably too old by then and it had to hurt), and the way he would be the first one barking and looking out the window at the sound of a truck passing out front.
He never grew to like Mailmen, UPS men or men in uniforms (besides my brother in law), and he never trusted trucks.
Oh and his love of squeaky toys. It's one of those things you have to see, and I'm sure Jay's seen it at least once. But with him, unlike other dogs, squeaky toys actually lasted because he liked to find the squeaker, give it a good squeeze and then start running around the coffee table in the middle of the room. And if you didn't chase him, he would give it more squeezes all the while watching you and waiting for your move. He would play like that even once his muzzle was all white, covered in gray.
He was taken into the hospital earlier last week, and that's where he stayed fro a few days before passing away. The problem was that I wanted to see him once before he died, and I didn't. I just hate the though of him dying in a cold sterile animal hospital without one of us near-by. I would have preferred to do what I did with Wanda and hold him in my lap as we put him to sleep.
But I missed my chance to see him, and hearing he was gone was a shock-- especially since my mother simply announced, "Oh, he's dead" after I asked about him. My mother is just like that. It's not a bad trait, she loves her animals, just she moves on faster than the rest of us.
Caesar was a loving boxer. The things I remember about him are his gentle large brown eyes, the way he would wait behind the younger dogs when I walked in the door at my parents and then jump up on me with his front paws as if giving me a hug (even though he was probably too old by then and it had to hurt), and the way he would be the first one barking and looking out the window at the sound of a truck passing out front.
He never grew to like Mailmen, UPS men or men in uniforms (besides my brother in law), and he never trusted trucks.
Oh and his love of squeaky toys. It's one of those things you have to see, and I'm sure Jay's seen it at least once. But with him, unlike other dogs, squeaky toys actually lasted because he liked to find the squeaker, give it a good squeeze and then start running around the coffee table in the middle of the room. And if you didn't chase him, he would give it more squeezes all the while watching you and waiting for your move. He would play like that even once his muzzle was all white, covered in gray.