Today was a sad day here at the house. If you remember my little dog buddy, Duncan, the feisty but lovable little chihuahua, we had to put him down at the vet today. He had been declining for a while, and the last couple weeks he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t bite people, and could barely even stand up.
It’s absolutely heartbreaking when you lose a pet, because they’re like a family member, but as I was telling my daughter Evelyn and my ex-wife Nicole at the vet, that greasy little shelter dog won the Super Lotto when he found us. He was loved and pampered and spoiled and he was able to live out his days eating turkey meat, taking naps in the Leopard Lounge, (Sally created the Leopard Lounge, and it became his favorite place to burrow and hang out and sleep) and basically being catered to like a sultan. By our best guesstimates, he was a minimum fifteen years old and possibly as old as eighteen or nineteen. He had a damn good run. I loved that little guy and cried when he closed his eyes for good.
Although his name was Duncan, I gave him many nicknames during the years that he was here with us: Mr. Farts, Senor Farts, Mr. Dude, Roscoe, Butt Butt, Mr. Fecal Freckles, and so many others. He never seemed to mind. But then again, he was deaf.
If you want to see Duncan in his prime, watch the video I made during the pandemic for “So Sad About Us,” where Duncan absolutely steals the show as the lost pet who returns home. Damn. The song takes on a whole new meaning today.
