Regardless how many legs or amount of hair. One of the worst parts about being human is we often outlive our other mothered fam. In 'dog years', Maddux was 129. Far beyond his expectancy. Marvelous dog. He will be missed. So, through some angry tears, I give you his last day.
I have pictures of his last day too. He got a jar of crunchy peanut butter before I drove him in the truck one last time. His hips were completely shot. He couldn't stand without my help and tripped over his own feet. It hurt to the point where he wouldn't even get up most of the time and was leaving me messes on the floor instead of proudly watering the trees for his perimeter.
That last shot, I can hardly look at. It's like he knew. I bout clocked the fukn guy that was trying to tell me how much it was. Told him I settle up in a minute. He was being persistent so I got red and they had him removed from my sight until I left. I pick his ashes up on Wednesday. Not sure what to do with them. But, he often kept me sane since Wenzday died. He'd tell me to REMEMBER TO BE YOU! I always am, even with dust in my eyes.
Wanna find me on that other shit?
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