It was May 2003 that we first wondered if our friend Buster might not live out his normal Labrador life expectancy.
He’d been showing odd symptoms of pain and increasing disability since Autumn. His weakness would come and go, first in his front right leg, then his neck, then he’d be fine for a few weeks and we hoped it was all over.
But it kept coming back, and each time the dog was in a little more pain, barely able to get outside and back a few times a day. A few steps into the grass as far as he could go. We never did know a name for what took him at four and a half years old.
Tsuga, in May of 2003, was the size of a walnut, and in July when we put Buster out of his misery, T-dog was less than two weeks old. Now, he’ll soon be six, and he’s outlived his predecessor by a year and a half.
Today I found this noiresque image of Buster, old friend departed, mis-filed on my computer, so had not seen it for years. Doing so brought the story powerfully back to me–as you dog folks can imagine.