It hasn't gotten any better - only a little less shitty.
We miss him daily. The neighbor misses him daily, as do his aunties, extended family, and far-flung internet folks.
We're thankful for all the good will and wishes sent to us.
I'm still without words for his vet making a donation to the UofP vet school in his name.
I miss our Quality Time, before going to sleep, when he'd stand on my arm and I'd scratch his flaps til one of us got tired. He was named after the Marshall amplifier. We made up a flyer comparing him to an amplifier, which the Marshall people liked.
In 13 years, we were never apart for longer than my work hours.
The moment we brought him home, he jumped on the couch and it was his. Someone dumped him. They said he was 6 but the vet said 18 months.
He had the normal cocker traits: abandonment and a great personality. Sometimes he'd sit behind his mom on the couch. Sometimes he'd sleep above her head on the pillow. Sometimes he'd walk on my chest while I was sleeping and curl up. If I told him to go back to his spot, he would, but wait til I was asleep and try again. He was way too smart for a dog.
When Mrs lefty picked me up from work, he'd walk through the huge place to my office, stopping to meet his fans along the way. One day the boss took his leash and introduced him to people around the office. It was surreal.
He'd lay outside, where the neighbor would have long chats with him, while gardening. When she moved spots, he moved. He taught her to feed him on command, but didn't understand that going out and barking after midnight was not good. He'd hide in the bushes so we couldn't find him to bring him in. This worked less well in winter, when the bushes were just sticks.
He loved my parents. My mother did energy work with him and he used to sit next to her and relax. He crawled all over my dad, which was rare.
He had his own cat, who'd annoy the hell out of him. When the cat died, he went into mourning for a while. After that, he got diagnosed with cancer and wasn't given long. In spite of that, he went on for a few years, endearing himself to the vet staff and everyone else. When he walked in, the entire staff said his name, like Norm entering Cheers. We received a card with everyone's signature and a few sentences from everyone at the vet's office.
We swore he would not suffer and he didn't. He passed quietly in the night.
I don't feel we'll ever get over him. He was not so much a dog as a little person with fur. And his own cult.
His ashes watch over us from the center of the room
(in case we have tuna or cat food for him)
He thinks Penny is a handful.
He is right.
* no offense at all to Penny, who brought life back to our home. She's a dog, through and through. She will not develop human behavior, but has developed her place and her people. She is the most relentlessly happy dog I've ever met, and a complete sweetheart.
