My sister had a dog named Wicket since she was 15. Since she’s 30 now, that’s half her life. He was very old and had been getting very sick, so my sister and folks decided to put him to sleep last night so he wouldn’t suffer anymore.
I always called him “The Other Dog,” and we often gave him a bit of a hard time for doing things like staring at walls, but he was a good dog and I secretly liked him (at least when no one was looking). He was always a bit strange and senile, even when he was a puppy, but I don’t think he had a mean bone in his body. In fact, he may have been all bone –and possibly with an adamantium skeleton like Wolverine– since I think he weighed over 25 pounds a few years ago. That’s a big Shih-tzu.
In any case, he was a member of the family for a long time, and he will be missed.
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