Hi, people. One of our readers advised me to take a short mental health break from Freeperville, so I decided to post about something marginally less sad – pets who have passed on. So – let tribute time begin!
I’d like to start with Sunny and Kingsford, who were fast friends from the day they met. Sunny was one of those kittehs who thinks they’re a dog (and everyone who comes in the front door obviously did so just to pet him). He loved rubbing against your legs, especially when you were on the can. Kingsford was the charcoal-coloured polar opposite – the kind who would sit behind the back edge of the couch, and take a swipe at you as you passed. I picked him out of a litter that a friend brought over, because while his litter mates were hanging around in front of the records (remember records?) mewing, he was on top of the records taking swipes at them as they passed by underneath.
Here’s the not-so-dynamic duo. Sunny would get in the straw basket, and Kingsford would squeeze in next to Sunny and go to sleep :
Sunny succumbed to an infection, and Kingsford, ever the escape artist, sneaked out an unclosed door one day and never came back.
I also had a Bulldog mix called B.J. He loved to lie down with his nose in my shoes just so he could smell me all the time.
Cancer took BJ about 15 years ago.
When Barbara moved in with me, she brought a hound named “Moe” (for “more dog”). He had been looking for a father figure, apparently, and was just happy to have a man to pet him. I’d be at my computer, when a wet nose and furry muzzle would nudge under my left hand, and suddenly I’d be petting Mo Doggie.
He left us around 12 years ago.
Barbara also brought her cat, “Precious Kitty”. She WAS precious, ultra feminine, and carried her poofy tail over her head like a parasol.
Precious made it to the very old age of 16, and was always the mistress of the house.
And that brings us to Bailey Bulldog. He was a surrender from a family that didn’t want to take him in after their Dad died.
He came to us housebroken, leash and crate trained, and he loved to back up to you for bully-butt-pets.
Bailey died in his sleep at the incredible (for a bulldog) age of 15. He was a Very Very Good Boy.
Lastly, we had Brillo. Barbara met her at a Pet Smart adoption event, and this big girl (Scottish Deerhound, mostly) went up to Barb, lay down and put her muzzle on Barbara’s leg. And that, as they say, was that. I never saw the dog, just gave my blessings to the adoption, and was driving home the day Barbara had picked her up. I was on the phone with Barbara and she said “Sweetheart – she’s not the prettiest dog….” I took a deep breath, and then replied: “OK – how ugly IS she?” The dog’s shelter name had been “Purdy”, but I took one look at her with her outer coat fringe, and said “Brillo”. And Brillo she was, from that day forward.
That ugly mutt with the beautiful heart followed Barbara everywhere she went, and would proceed Barbara when she was coming toward the living room (looking over her shoulder to make sure Barbara was still coming). I told Barbara: “That’s your herald.” Brillo was the most loving dog I’ve ever met, much less owned. She loved everyone, and everyone loved her.
We lost Brillo to lymphoma two months ago, only a month or so after we lost Precious.
So – we’re now petless for the the first time since we met, 20 + years ago. It’s tough opening doors and not seeing a doggie or kitty on the other side. We’re now of the age that a puppy or kitten might outlive us, and we wanted to do some traveling while we still can. So – no more pets.
Barbara was thinking about volunteering at a local shelter, but I know how that would turn out.
Here’s the good part. They’re not really gone. They’re right here now, on the pages of First Draft. Nothing lasts forever, but the love we give to and receive from our pets stays with us. And this is where you come in.
Now, our wonderful furry friends are all still here with all of us, because you read this post.
I’ll see you good people next Monday, with Freeper reactions to the Electoral College decision.