Yesterday my family said goodbye to our dog Ollie. (Formally Oliver Twist, but he wasn't all that formal.)
Here he is in his better days, shortly after Abby taught him to crawl:
He was fourteen and lived a pretty good life as a funny, occasionally cranky, well-loved and really good dog.
He was a sweet dog who liked his people more than anything else. Tied for second on the list were big pillows, warm blankets, heater vents, dinnertime, and treats. And he really knew how to rock the zebra print sunglasses.
It's going to be weird going to my parents house and not seeing Ollie hobble up from his pillow to greet me. I'll miss you, buddy.
Here he is on Google Streetview, immortalized in one of his happy places: the sunny front yard at our old house.
In doggie heaven, there are pillows and down blankets galore, the squirrels run slow and can't climb trees, and the sun is always shining on a soft patch of grass in the front yard. Ollie, you were a good dog and we loved you.