Watson L. Dog died Thursday morning, Thanksgiving Day, November 26, 2020. That night before we had him up on the bed for his nightly cuddles, just like always. Very early, around 4:30 am, he made noise like he was trying to get up but couldn't. Kelly held him and he quieted down, then he died in her arms. 

I took him to a pet crematorium this morning. Kelly wasn't thrilled by my ossuary idea, so we'll just get his ashes. 

The house is much quieter now. Even with Marceline and the two other pups running around, it's different. Mabel doesn't bark much, and Bun-Bun has yet to do more than whine and growl. 

He was a good dog. I'll miss him. 

I've been surprisingly okay. It's different with him because we'd known about his condition for over a 16 months, and at that time we didn't think he'd make it another full year. Full of surprises, that dog. 

I could weep. I feel it, behind my eyes. I suppose another difference was the practical matters of handling the body once he had died. I placed his body in a couple of plastic bags, and then in a cardboard box. 

The pet crematorium place was pleasant. It was in an older part of Phoenix, which is an odd mix of industrial workplaces and small houses that used to be homes but have since been converted into small businesses. At least I think they've been converted. I'm used the idea of a business looking like it should be part of a strip mall, but I guess that's not a rule or anything. 

I don't feel the need to sum up Watson's life. I've chronicled our adventures in many other places. Perhaps I should try anyway.

Watson was given to me free from HALO Animal Rescue, because he was troublemaker and no one wanted him. He could jump any fence and break free of any kennel, although he was housebroken and good with other dogs, cats, and children. He had probably had a home at some point; when he came to the rescue he was already neutered and in pretty good shape. Probably got out of his original owner's backyard and went on an adventure. 

He also loved to chew. He chewed the shelter wall through his kennel once. 

I was new at the animal shelter, so one of my duties was to exercise the dogs that couldn't be out in the yards with all the other dogs. So I'd take him out and play fetch with him. That dog could run. That was his greyhound part. The chewing was probably his pitbull part. I don't know where he got his smarts, because he was certainly that.

We taught him to say "Mama". We taught him to speak, and we noticed that he'd do this mutter sometimes that wasn't quite a bark or a growl. After he learned how to talk he never shut up because he wanted treats for it. Clever boy.

He chewed up many things. Some of those things he'd chewed and eaten would get stuck in his stomach and need surgical intervention. Three times. 

I'd jokingly take a belt, and swing and snap it menacingly at him. And he would attack me. He wasn't fooled.

He was an excellent cuddler. We'd snuggle all the time. Except that he hated to be sniffed. He'd get real mad if you sniffed his ears. And he'd muzzle-punch you in the face if you didn't heed his growls of warning. 

I'll miss him. I'll see him in dreams though. That will be nice.