flatblack

Today marks a very sad day for me, more bittersweet really because it's been a long time and I'm OK with it.

On February 23, 2003 the best dog that ever lived died while I held her. She had gastric cancer and after a couple surgeries and just shy of $6k in vet bills, there was nothing more that could be done. That last week when the end was very near, I took off from work and took her home from the animal hospital; she got to eat Krispy Kreme and Papa Johns pizza every day. Not just the crust mind you, she got all the full slices she felt like having. We went for walks for however long she felt like it every day. It was good in the end.

Like all dogs, she was extra cute as a pup:

She never quite grew into that tongue:

When I was at Pets Mart with her once, the little girl in line in front of me looked at her wrinkly droopy face and asked her dad, "I cant figure out if that dog's really sad or really tired":

Her good buddy Bruno is gone now too:

We sure had some great camping trips together:

She's buried under a tree I planted on top of her just outside the bedroom window of my old house. Not that Bel Air doesn't mean the world to me, but no dog nor any woman that comes along will ever live up to Guzzi.