Our dog died last Sunday.
We'd had him for around 6 years. His name was Daxter (or Dax, or Daxie-poo, or the unflattering nickname my mom gave him the last time she visited. *snicker*)
He'd been with us through the best of times and the worst of times. The highs and lows. The lefts and rights. (you see what I'm trying to say here.)
He was much beloved by Matthew and a loyal companion and running buddy to Matt.
Although we'd had him awhile, he was still very much young at heart. Extremely hyper-active and very playful. And although he had all of those qualities, I feel that I must share...I couldn't stand him.
We obtained Dax the same way we obtained a few of the pets we've had over the years.
Matt: "Hey babe, I was wondering, would you like to have a
Me: "No." (Mentally preparing to stand my ground)
Matt: "Oh....well I thought you'd say yes. I already got the (insert animal)
Me: *sigh* (mentally giving in) *rolls eyes* "whatever, as long as I don't have to feed it, or take care of it in any way."
I have to hand it to him, I mostly never did have to take care of Dax or any of the other random pets we've had. I say mostly because there's always that rare time that I have to do it. But it's slim to none.
Now I will also say that I have also brought home a couple of cats. But I came to realize that it's enough work for me to take care of the kids and the house and feed the monsters that live in it. So I swore off bringing any pets home until I feel I can manage it. (it probably won't be any time soon.)
So, that's how we got Dax.
Sunday night, Matt decided to go for a run. He never goes at night, only in the mornings, but he has to pass his PT (National Guard Physical Test) and he's been trying to run as much as physically possible.
He then took Dax with him. He loved to go running with Matt.
Just the week before I went walking while Matt went running and we were outside stretching and talking. Suddenly we became aware of a whining sound. It was Dax, standing outside his doghouse shaking and whining at us. He knew Matt was getting ready to go run, and he wanted to go.
When Matt came bursting through the door he told me this is what had happened:
They were over by the bridge (about a mile away from the house). Matt was running on the left and Dax was over on the right. *Dax never could stay by Matt when he ran, he was always ahead or behind, sniffing or checking something out* Matt saw the car coming and figured the dog would get out of the way.
But the car got him right in the head and he died instantly.
Poor Matt was pretty shaken up, he started carrying him home, but the dead weight was just too much for him. Plus he realized he was a mile away from home, and he really didn't want to carry his beloved dead dog all the way home. So he came back and got the car and we buried him that night.
Matthew was pretty upset the rest of the night. He just sat in my lap and cried. And I cried right along with him.
Now Matthew knew good and well that I didn't like that dog and I
But I explained to him that I would miss the look on his (Matthew's)
Plus I have to admit, that dog was loyal.
He would get off his chain and go running around town. But 10 minutes later he'd be back on our front porch. He always knew where home was. No matter what...or where.