And so it Ends

Rug, a dog that went from my dad to me, then to me and my brother, then to my brother, was finally put down. My brother has a good post on it here. Before my dad got her in 1992 or '93 (not sure), she was in an abusive home and my dad semi-voluntarily rescued her (the woman he was dating at the time worked in a home for abused mothers and the dog had to go someplace, so...).

Anyway, I never liked that dog--sometimes hated her guts--and wanted to, literally, kill her on more than one occasion. Freak weirdo of a mammal that cost me more money than I even want to think about (in the thousands). And, as you might imagine, she wasn't overly fond of me either. But, strangely, she was never really afraid of me or timid around me unless she knew I was mad. More strangely still, until her death she would always come up to me with a doggy smile and say hey. It was never overly affectionate, but more of a "Hey dude, what's up?" without really being too terribly interested in the answer.

I guess we just understood each other. And, if we were ever alike in anything, we realized that we can be annoying pains in the ass and that we deserve to get put in our place for it sometimes. It doesn't mean we have to hate each other afterwards. There's just not enough time for that.