Willie has been fading fast, and he died in his sleep last night. He was a good boy, and we're glad he was able to go at home, since he was terrified of the vet.
C. adopted Willie and his pup, Rudy, in 2010, after her old Pomeranian, Jasper, died. They came from an evil breeder in Moses Lake. I say evil because decent, kind people don't breed dogs who have bad knees and crooked jaws, and are prone to seizures. (Most decent, kind people don't breed dogs at all, since there are so many without homes.) Anyway, Willie had multiple birth defects, and Rudy was a mess. Willie was a good dad and took care of his boy, washing his face and sleeping by him. Rudy died of a seizure in 2012.
Willie had a beautiful, full coat in his younger days. He got along well with the other dogs and with people, and he was grateful for any kindness. He was quiet and mellow, except at dinner time, when he indulged in his piercing Pomeranian bark. Willie did enjoy his dinner.
C. spent the morning digging a fine, deep hole for him, out under the giant pine where Badeaux, our old redbone coonhound, is buried. She placed Willie in the bottom, clambered out, said a few words, and we began to fill the hole. I scooped up a shovelful of earth, sank into the snow and fell over backward, delivering a two-foot-raised salute, which will now become a funereal tradition. C. helped me up and we finished filling the hole and topping it with rocks.
Bye, Willie. You were a good dog.
Six eggs today.
I took Burday outside and we sat on the porch for a while so she could soak up some sun and see the other birds. It was kinda warm out, with a warmish wind blowing, and the yard is getting muddy.