Missing Mr. Moose



My big dog died.  Suddenly.  Out of nowhere.  Fit as a fiddle until he wasn’t.  Off his food Wednesday, dead on Friday.  I don’t know why. 

That dog had a sense of humor.  He’d do anything for a laugh.  Pick up errant socks, glasses, newspaper, whatever -  make eye contact then take off chortling “catch me if you can,” all the while listening for my chuckle at which point his cropped tail wagging and rear section wiggling, he’d be doing his dog flirt.    

He snored horribly, his cheeks filling with a breath then a slow “phhp, phhp, phhp,” of escaping air, cheeks moving in and out.  Big suck in of fresh air.  Repeat.  I’d laugh watching him sleep.

A major personality, sweet and loving boy, total pain in the ass when I got on the phone talking and pacing, he'd herd me to the box of dog biscuits.  He had me well trained.
It's awfully quiet around here without him.

 

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