Goodbye, My Friend

We did it wrong when we brought him home. We carried him around, allowed him to sit on our laps, and we acted like he was a baby.  So when he got to be an 80-pound grown collie who still wanted to sit on our laps, we had no one to blame but ourselves. My parents got him when I was home for a summer during college as a present for my sister, but Gizmo always loved me best. Gizmo and I trained every day. He learned to sit, to stay, and to shake. He never took to playing dead, but he valiantly tried to please me.  When I went back to school, I was so sad. He was my buddy, my friend, and the greatest little puppy ever.

He was not a bright dog. He wasn't ever good at training.  He was always trying to herd us into going where he wanted us to go, usually go the couch so we would pet him. And he was LOUD.  He never stopped barking. He barked at the other dogs. He barked at cars that dared drive down the road. He barked at the door when I closed it behind me when I went to bed.  He barked at leaves falling off the trees. 

But he was a sweet dog. He knew when my dad was about to have a seizure. He would curl up next to me on the couch when I was sick. When I would pull into the driveway after months away, he would wait by the picture window and get so excited to see me that I could hear him from the inside of the car. He would put his nose in my palm to request pets. He would play tug for hours if you let him. He would fetch and run and do everything an active dog should.  He would let me brush him for hours. He gave kisses and cuddles and so much love.

He was there when we didn't bring Dusty back from the vet. He was there when we didn't bring Heinz back from the vet. He was there when we didn't bring Midnight back from the vet.  He was there when my father died, refusing to leave my dad's recliner and whimpering for hours when we moved him to make him eat. He turned 15 earlier this year and the vet started to tell us it was time.  He was an old collie and he couldn't hear, couldn't see, and couldn't defend himself from the attacks of my mom's (kind of mean) Pomeranian.

Today was it for my Gizzy.  I love you, buddy.

My mom took these when I was back in October. Gizmo did not want to be an angel.  But he was still giving kisses.