The beginning and the end...
Thanks so much to everyone who wrote me about this over the last couple days. It meant a lot, and I'm sorry I didn't respond individually, but time got away from me.
As I suspected, poor old Gatsby was one giant cancer trap and it finally manifested itself. Bleh. He got two pretty good meals, we put him down yesterday morning, and I buried him in the back yard with a dogwood planted over him. As I told some of you, if that damn tree dies, I'm going to have a ginormous temper tantrum.
First picture I ever took of Gatsby. With arguably the oldest, crappiest yet-still-functioning Polaroid camera then in existence.
I think I was 23, which would make G. about 2. Yeahyeah, it's a pure vanity shot, indulge me. It's my birthday. Because it's weird for me now to think either one of us ever looked like this.
Unfortunately, I think this is how most people will remember him. He was constantly in your face/lap/way, begging for attention/food/petting. Particularly with Mr. B-List. Hmm. What's that about pets and their owners resembling each other??
This is not the last picture I ever took of the old dog, but it was one of a series I took each month during Junior B's first year. Junior was 11 months old, Gatsby was 11 years.
I was talking to my mom about it yesterday, and told her the only really hard part is I keep thinking, "Oh, it's time to give him his pills---no, nevermind." She said the hard part for her when dogs go is waking up to night noises and thinking, "Oh, the dog will get the ghostie.... Oh. Damn. Now I have to get up and see what that was." I hadn't even thought about that part til she mentioned it, mostly because for the past year or so, Gatsby was so deaf that he'd never hear anything and literally the only way would harm an intruder was if he happened to be lying in their path and they tripped over him. But even in his heyday, he MIGHT have barked before just slobbering them to death with dog-kisses. :)
Still, not a bad life, that.
As I suspected, poor old Gatsby was one giant cancer trap and it finally manifested itself. Bleh. He got two pretty good meals, we put him down yesterday morning, and I buried him in the back yard with a dogwood planted over him. As I told some of you, if that damn tree dies, I'm going to have a ginormous temper tantrum.
First picture I ever took of Gatsby. With arguably the oldest, crappiest yet-still-functioning Polaroid camera then in existence.
I think I was 23, which would make G. about 2. Yeahyeah, it's a pure vanity shot, indulge me. It's my birthday. Because it's weird for me now to think either one of us ever looked like this.
Unfortunately, I think this is how most people will remember him. He was constantly in your face/lap/way, begging for attention/food/petting. Particularly with Mr. B-List. Hmm. What's that about pets and their owners resembling each other??
This is not the last picture I ever took of the old dog, but it was one of a series I took each month during Junior B's first year. Junior was 11 months old, Gatsby was 11 years.
I was talking to my mom about it yesterday, and told her the only really hard part is I keep thinking, "Oh, it's time to give him his pills---no, nevermind." She said the hard part for her when dogs go is waking up to night noises and thinking, "Oh, the dog will get the ghostie.... Oh. Damn. Now I have to get up and see what that was." I hadn't even thought about that part til she mentioned it, mostly because for the past year or so, Gatsby was so deaf that he'd never hear anything and literally the only way would harm an intruder was if he happened to be lying in their path and they tripped over him. But even in his heyday, he MIGHT have barked before just slobbering them to death with dog-kisses. :)
Still, not a bad life, that.