When I was five or six years old we bought a dog, Buffy. Small, maltese, used to fit in my dad's shirt pocket. Somehow, the little guy stuck around for 19 years - long, long after most dogs have had their day.
Still not sure how he managed that, to be honest - thats' 133 in dog years, for christ's sakes. It got to the point these last few years and months where I seriously wondered if he'd stick around forever.
Sure, he got blinder and blinder, and deafer, and the last months seemed to really struggle breathing at times, but somehow he always fought it off.
'Til yesterday, when we had to put him down. He just couldn't breathe this time...poor guy.
I don't really know what else to say, other than he's gone and I miss him.
Just one more thing to tack onto this trainwreck that's been the last 2 months I guess.
See ya pal.
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