Texas

What can I say? He was the single most stubborn dog I've ever known, and I can't believe that after 17 years, 15 of which I had the pleasure of knowing him, he's gone. Let's go to the highlights:

• Driving down a small road in Waco, TX and seeing a small, flea-infested Dachshund walking next to a cornfield. "Let's stop!" I said to Mark. "Umm, if he's there on the way back, we'll pick him up." Two hours later we were driving to Austin with an emaciated Texas in the car with us. We bought him a spiked leather collar at a pet store there, and had to remove a spike and make a new hold to fit it on his tiny neck. He wore that same collar until the day he died.
• He was a well-traveled dog. Countless trips to NY and Utah by plane, as well as numerous road trips to LA, the Sierras, and Northern Cali and two cross country adventures by car.
• He suffered from, in no specific order: epilepsy; lupus; broken hip; herniated disc; heartworm. He had also been shot at before I found him - the surgeon removed a bb that had healed under his skin. Lastly, he was run over *in front of me* as I walked across Guerrero Street to Dolores Park. The cab dragged him halfway up the hill, where Texas suddenly tumbled out, looking stunned.
• He loved to run on sand. When he was on sand, his back felt better and he turned into the dog he might have been, had he not been entirely neglected his first two years. He may have needed to be carried down the stairs at Fort Funston, but once he was on the sand, you couldn't help but laugh and smile at his energy.
  
• He was mocked by most of the men I know, and he couldn't care less.
  
• Surprisingly, he was the "swimmer" of our two dogs. After being tossed in the Yuba River on a camping trip, he made a slow but stately dog-paddle to the shore. Unlike Trout, who forgot to use her back legs and sank like a stone.
• Speaking of camping - the bear trip. In the Sierras, me, Guy, and a 4 month old B, plus the two dogs, in our tent. Texas is in his favorite place - sleeping on the back of my knees - when a bear appears outside, Trout starts barking like mad, and Texas just shivers in place. After banging pots and yelling at him, the bear leaves and I think, why are my feet wet? Oh, Texas... so frightened of the bear, he peed all over my sleeping bag. [sigh]
• Until his last year, when he was so frail, he *dominated* Trout and the house. The food was *his* food and he decided when Trout could eat it. He got to sleep in the bed when Trout got the floor. When he started sleeping on the floor, *he* took the nicer bed, going as far as to growl at Trout and tunnel his way under her to make her move.
• Last week, when I thought he was laying there dying, I brought him some short ribs. I haven't seen him get up so fast in a very long time. He licked the bowl clean.

I really didn't think I'd miss him this hard. He was so old and obviously so uncomfortable, but when we took him to the vet in the Fall she said that there really wasn't anything *wrong* with him. He was old - that is what old looks like. He hated the vet, and knew from the second you crossed the threshold that no good would come of *that* place. So I absolutely could not bring him there for the end.

The End. As Guy said, he went out on his terms. He must have wanted to live, because he had so many moments where he could have, and in some should have, died. To the end he followed the sun, wobbled to the next sunny spot and lay down. I think, when even that activity became too much for him, when that last pleasure was being taken from him, he decided that maybe it was time to go.

Many people didn't "get" Texas. But I (and eventually Guy) did, and that's really all that matters. Ribs for my Ooocher.