This f*cking guy. The incomparable, Shepherd Pye.
The bullet-proof, energizer bunny who laughed in the face of Cushing’s Disease, liver cancer and multiple near-fatal Pitbull/dog park mutt attacks over the last decade and a half to the tune of 7 scalp staples.
The best buddy who helped watch over my niece, nephew and definitely baby Goose as a loving familial sentry and late-in-life big brother.
Rhuby’s devoted littermate, whose loyalties remained even after Pixie entered the pack. The stalwart without a choice who spent nearly 15 years, two countries, 5 cities and at least 27 poor decisions as a confidant at my undeserving side.
Sure, he bit a couple of people and ruined a few square feet of hardwood flooring along the way. Who amongst us can claim otherwise? Cast the first stone, or frig off.
Our time together has drawn to a close. You were just a dog who only understood a limited scope of phonetic commands. And that you definitely never had a Facebook account, or even your own web browser. But I still want you to know two things:
Nothing will ever replace the great, goddamn run we had together.
And that you will always be loved.
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