He was 15.
We got him from a small pet store. He was trembling when they brought him to us, he was so afraid of everything. For the rest of his life, he was claustrophobic. he could not be crated, and he would whine if anyone closed the door of the room he was in.
The vet told us we shouldn’t expect him to live. He lived anyway. He was always like that — contrary. Try to take his picture, and he’d turn away. Take him for a walk, and he’d choose his own path. He’d go up on people’s lawns. Get him off the lawn and tell him no, and he’d go back on the lawn again.
He refused most kinds of dog food, but he’d eat all sorts of things off the ground. He learned to pounce and chew it up fast, before we could get it away from him.
He was afraid of most people. He’d go up to kids, though.
He hated things with wheels. He’d bark at wagons and tricycles.
We learned that 3 barks, a pause, and a bark was canine for “Get off my lawn!” He bullied any dog he could intimidate, hid from the rest. He chased squirrels — not to hurt, but to sniff. Ditto cats.
Let him off the leash and he’d start running in circles and dodging back and forth, huffing with every movement. We called it “crazy dog”.
He slept on the bed. Nowhere else.
He hated cars. He was only carsick once, but he remembered.
We were told he was pure miniature poodle. He looked part bishon. Like I said — contrary. Stubborn, idiocentric, and full of life.
He got cancer. And arthritis. Ignored the pain and chased squirrels right to the end.
Today, his stomach swelled up and he couldn’t get comfortable. The vet said it was time.
The procedure was in two stages. A shot to get rid of the pain and make him happy. He started yelping at things, like a bad trip. Figured.
The second shot took effect in a few seconds.