Well, just when I thought this week couldn't get any more fucked up…
Bailey Bulldog is dead.
He died sometime Thursday morning, in his sleep, at the incredible (for a Bulldog) age of 13.
He was a rescue. His owner died from cancer, and for some reason his kids didn't want Bailey. Barbara and I drove to Tulsa to pick him up. He lived in his forever home with us for 6 years. Unlike a lot of rescue bullies, there was nothing horribly (and expensively) wrong with him physically – he just kept going and going. He had started going downhill the last week, not eating, sleeping 98% of the time instead of the normal 80%, having the occasional accident (which he typically never did). We knew he was at the end of the trail. He was asleep in his crate just like any other morning, except that when I went to let him out, his perpetually-sticking-out tongue was purple, and I realized that he wouldn't be getting up any more.
I know this was the best possible scenario for him to check out, but that doesn't help much.
He was unobtrusive, but omnipresent. His favourite seat by the living room fireplace, his preferred spot in the studio – they are very empty places now. Bailey never demanded attention (unlike a certain Brillo beast), but patiently followed from room to room to be your silent companion. Thick as a brick, deaf as a post, and incapable of going from one room to another without "stalling out" – until his pea brain finally remembered where he had set out for – he was all of these things.
He was also noble, uncomplaining, and the best petting dog I have ever seen. It was like petting a fire hydrant with a fur coat on. And when he was petted, the stumpy ears would go all the way back, and the chin would go straight up, and his little eyes would close in esctasy.
He hated the outdoors, and only went out to do his business or drink (we kept his water bowl outside because of the godawful dribbling mess he made after getting those chops good and wet – we called him "Tom Drooley" after getting his Big Drink). Then it was back into the comfort of the A/C and his people.
He looked like a cartoon Bulldog, all chest, shoulders, and head (no neck), and not much else – but he also had the biggest heart I've ever encountered.
He was our Big Buddy.
No nose. At all. No neck, either,
Barbara discovers a smoosh face on her side of the couch
Bailey, in a rare trip to the front yard. Bulldog on guard!
His favourite spot in the living room
I get some equal smoosh face time…..
Can we come in NOW? PLEASE?
His other favourite spot – in the studio in front of one of the P.A. speakers, softly snoring….
Always happy to be with us…
Bye, big boy – we'll miss you.