<---My shadow Gus
Who is now in heaven.
Shall be sorely missed.
It's been fifteen years since we had to put Rufus down. He was a hard dog to follow, but Gus managed to do it. Rufus was eighteen, part cocker and part lab, he would chase rocks anywhere, even up a tree. He amazed our neighbors, kept watch over the kids, and even climbed in a window now and then if we accidentally left one open and he was too lazy to use the doggy door.
Gus wasn't as smart as Rufus, but he was as devious. If he didn't get his daily walk he'd wait until we were gone, then he'd pry open the pantry door and tear down all the cereal boxes, cookie packs, and, ick, pancake batter. One year he got mad when we left for the Christmas fair and he pulled the left over turkey down from the counter, carcass and all, onto the kitchen floor where he and Chelsea had their Thanksgiving feast. Thankfully, no one ended up with a punctured intestine.
At night, he'd pester me until I let him under the covers where he would sleep at my feet. Yes, he slept under the covers. This totally grosses out my daughter-in-law, but he was happy there and so was I. Gus wasn't even weaned when my husband rescued him from the Oakland pound. Dennis picked out the strongest looking pup he could find. Of course, he wasn't fat, he had worms. And he was hairless because he had scabies, not because he was part Mexican hairless. Together with the vet we nursed him along until he turned into a right fine dog. Stubborn and devious, but still a great dog.
When we first moved to the foothills he was our only friend. Lost in a world of trees and, gasp, wild animals, we worried over him like he was a child. One day we went for a walk and while I was adjusting his leash he ran away from us. We called for him, searched for him high and low. Time wore on and the sun was going down. I thought for sure a mountain lion had him.
Then I heard something panting. I held up my hand and told my husband to listen.
"Be careful," he mouthed as I headed for some dense brush.
I pulled the curtain of shrubbery aside and there he was. Exhausted, panting, and surrounded by deer. He was the same color as they were so I could only assume they thought he was one of them.
I have so many stories to tell of a wild terrier lab that loved to swing on the swing and stare in the living room window, or of the dog that cheated other dogs of a quick snack because he was faster. Those brown eyes had grown dim--white with blindness--those beautiful ears--unable to hear a sound. His body gave out, but his spirit didn't. We had to make the decision to put him down.
We stood next to him, hugging him, as he closed his eyes for the last time. Chelsea, our eighteen year-old pitbull lab finally came out from under the bed when we got home, her best friend gone forever. She mourns as we do, so we cuddled on the bed and watched old movies together.
Life will go on as it always does. But as for me, I'll be back on Monday.
(((hugs)))
Louann
Who is now in heaven.
Shall be sorely missed.
It's been fifteen years since we had to put Rufus down. He was a hard dog to follow, but Gus managed to do it. Rufus was eighteen, part cocker and part lab, he would chase rocks anywhere, even up a tree. He amazed our neighbors, kept watch over the kids, and even climbed in a window now and then if we accidentally left one open and he was too lazy to use the doggy door.
Gus wasn't as smart as Rufus, but he was as devious. If he didn't get his daily walk he'd wait until we were gone, then he'd pry open the pantry door and tear down all the cereal boxes, cookie packs, and, ick, pancake batter. One year he got mad when we left for the Christmas fair and he pulled the left over turkey down from the counter, carcass and all, onto the kitchen floor where he and Chelsea had their Thanksgiving feast. Thankfully, no one ended up with a punctured intestine.
At night, he'd pester me until I let him under the covers where he would sleep at my feet. Yes, he slept under the covers. This totally grosses out my daughter-in-law, but he was happy there and so was I. Gus wasn't even weaned when my husband rescued him from the Oakland pound. Dennis picked out the strongest looking pup he could find. Of course, he wasn't fat, he had worms. And he was hairless because he had scabies, not because he was part Mexican hairless. Together with the vet we nursed him along until he turned into a right fine dog. Stubborn and devious, but still a great dog.
When we first moved to the foothills he was our only friend. Lost in a world of trees and, gasp, wild animals, we worried over him like he was a child. One day we went for a walk and while I was adjusting his leash he ran away from us. We called for him, searched for him high and low. Time wore on and the sun was going down. I thought for sure a mountain lion had him.
Then I heard something panting. I held up my hand and told my husband to listen.
"Be careful," he mouthed as I headed for some dense brush.
I pulled the curtain of shrubbery aside and there he was. Exhausted, panting, and surrounded by deer. He was the same color as they were so I could only assume they thought he was one of them.
I have so many stories to tell of a wild terrier lab that loved to swing on the swing and stare in the living room window, or of the dog that cheated other dogs of a quick snack because he was faster. Those brown eyes had grown dim--white with blindness--those beautiful ears--unable to hear a sound. His body gave out, but his spirit didn't. We had to make the decision to put him down.
We stood next to him, hugging him, as he closed his eyes for the last time. Chelsea, our eighteen year-old pitbull lab finally came out from under the bed when we got home, her best friend gone forever. She mourns as we do, so we cuddled on the bed and watched old movies together.
Life will go on as it always does. But as for me, I'll be back on Monday.
(((hugs)))
Louann
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