goodgravy

It’s a bit harder to enjoy the holidays when your dog is dead. I came back home on Wednesday afternoon. It didn’t seem like anyone was home, but still I was a little surprised when I opened the door and wasn’t greeted by the usual cacophony of barking and honking and coughing. Cotton must be sleeping, I thought.

Well, she was, but she was sleeping the Big Sleep. I think about pet death a lot, morbid as it is, especially before I fall asleep. Because of that, you might think I was expecting my 13 year old dog to die. I wasn’t. Still, I didn’t take it as hard as I thought I would. I miss little Stinky like crazy though.

Little dogs often have pea-sized brains, and Stinky was no exception. However, the girl was fierce. She was always getting all up in big dog grills, especially this big old shepard named Mickey. One time Mickey was off his leash, and even though Stinky was leashed, she totally whomped on that sucker. That’s right. My dead dog can beat yours up.

Toward the end of life she got crotchety and acted like an old lady, but she was still lovable. She liked to hide behind clothes in the closet or curl up around the toilet for the nap. Hence her moniker, “Stinky.”

Small brain and all, I really loved that girl.