The Big Dog passed away yesterday. Her health was kind of shitty for the last year or so, but she seemed to be getting stronger. Yesterday afternoon, she didn't seem herself. She seemed weak, lethargic. She refused food. In her 11 years with us, I had never seen her say no to food. She knew something was up.

She went quietly, just after going to bed. Apparently, without pain, probably as a result of internal bleeding due to massive organ failure. She was a good dog. She was a pain in the ass sometimes, sure. But a good dog, in every sense of the word. She craved human contact, and would adjust her 75-pound frame to lean against a hand that wasn't petting her, or wasn't petting her just right.


Now, the Little Dog can eat her supper without having to worry about Big Dog finishing it off for her. But she misses her, too.

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