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Sorry for your loss, zeus.

One of the worst decisions the creator of the universe made was giving our best buddies such short life spans. Hold them tight, folks.

So sorry, zeus. My wife and I still mourn, and it's been a couple of years for us. Thanks for doing the right, honorable thing for Duncan in the end. Peace to you, buddy.

Like twenty years ago, when talking to my Grandpa about whether they’d get another dog after his died (he'd always had one), he said something about how their lives are too short, and he didn’t know if he could take it another time. This was one of those brief comments that ends up sticking with you for years perhaps because I had never seen him get emotionally escalated about anything (and he wasn’t when he said this). Nonetheless, I don’t think I was ever able to emotionally anticipate what a painful thing it really is.

Anyway, wishing peace to you, your family, and Duncan, and glad you able to be with her til the end.

Yeah - they get a hold of your heart and don't give it up. This is my son's dog and he is as big a character as the picture implies.
He's been a part of my son and his wife's relationship from the beginning and it will break their hearts (all of us actually since the son has been at the house through the pandemic) when his time comes in ten years or so. But you wouldn't trade the time with them for anything.

heyzeus wrote: ↑

September 23 22, 10:34 am

Thanks guys. I'm going to make it, but after I run the numbers I'm pretty sure today will be in the top 30 all time worst days of my life.

Friday wound up being the 12th worst day of my life.

I'm sorry to hear. I lost my buddy in May of 2021.

Sorry to hear that Zeus (and Bulldog).

World's Oldest Dog

https://www.npr.org/2023/02/03/11541057 ... l-guinness

I loved my dog, Teddy, as much as anyone has loved a dog. He was on death’s doorstep when my dad found him. A stray pup about 3 months old, with a bum leg, baking in the high desert Arizona sun; dehydrated, malnourished and helplessly laying on his side, unable to muster the strength to get up. I was 22.

I’m 37 now. So many people and places have come and gone since then, but not Teddy. He’s never left my side. So many thousands of miles traveled together, literally and figuratively. Now he’s lying on the floor, once again unable to muster the strength to get up. His arthritic spine finally gave out on a walk yesterday. We moved again six months ago, and I haven’t found a new vet, so I’m making phone calls in between bouts of tears and snot, trying to find somewhere to take him to say goodbye forever. I’ll never forget him. I’ll always be grateful for him. I’ll be ok without him, even though it doesn’t feel like it. I feel as alone as I’ve ever felt but I know that will pass. I feel numb to the idea of doing anything other than wallowing in my grief, but I know, that too, will pass. I know that because of the experience and lessons I learned with him by my side. It doesn’t really comfort me. Every day that passes I feel slightly more calloused. Slightly less vulnerable to the despair and pain of the world, and with that, slightly less open to the full vulnerability of love and hope. It sounds dramatic but I think it’s just life. When you’re a young sheltered white guy with an easy life, it’s easy to feel that the world is on a slow but steady upward trajectory. Now I know it meanders chaotically with little reason, like a kite in a storm. Whatever this means, I just know that I’ll never love anything the way I loved him. It will be different. Not necessarily worse or lessened, but different. I am bereft.

I love you teddy bear. Thank you for everything.