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Wake

So, I never said on this blog about Oscar.

I mentioned that he had a scary episode that resolved itself. After that he started eating again mostly, but it was just a few — maybe six? weeks — before we noticed his appetite was declining and he was losing weight pretty severely. I blogged about it over at the farm blog, which I figure if you read this blog you also read the farm blog, so you already know, but maybe you don’t. Oscar died at home with us, on his own terms, on June 26, 2011, and we are still very sad. I think we will be very sad for a long time. Oscar was an amazing, wonderful, one-of-a-kind dog.

I know everyone says this about their dog, but in this case it seems like everyone ELSE is saying this about THIS dog. People came out of the woodwork to say “I don’t really get dogs, but Oscar was a great dog” and “Oscar made me love dogs” (I’m one of those — he was such a gateway dog) and “I have had dogs forever, and that Oscar was some good dog.” etc.

G. had Oscar for about 11 years. I arrived when Oscar was about 5-ish. We went on an outing to the beach one time, when we (G. and I — Oscar was quite confident, as you will see) weren’t sure if we were on a date or not. It was all very awkward. We walked on the beach trails and then we sat down on opposite ends of a bench, because it was not-quite-a-date. G. was holding Oscar’s leash in his left hand, and I was sitting on the left side of the bench and G. was on the right side. Oscar assessed the situation, then casually walked around the bench to the left so that suddenly G.’s arm was behind me and basically around my shoulders, like G. had been a sneaky yawning teenager in a movie theater. At the time I thought “YOU TRAINED HIM TO DO THAT” and was kind of pissed, but I didn’t say anything out loud. I wasn’t able to verbally acknowledge that that had actually happened until we were at least a few weeks together, and I knew Oscar better. Then I figured out that it was all Oscar. He knew what he was up to, and he never did anything he didn’t want to.

When I was first on the scene, and I sat on one corner of G’s couch to watch tv, Oscar would sit and stare at me with big soulful eyes. I thought he was sad and envious that I had taken his spot on the couch. He did it when I sat at the kitchen table too. That took me a while to learn, too — that that was just Oscar. With the staring. He didn’t hate me. It was a loving staring. Oscar loved everyone.

Oscar had a really nice big neck scruff that you could put your whole face into. He had really soft ears, and spotty feets. He never licked you, and he would put his head on your lap and look at you with his big eyes. He would chase tennis balls, sometimes. He could fit Ruby’s whole head in his mouth, and did so regularly. When I got home from work and opened the gate, he would be so excited he would pounce on Ruby and make his wookiee noises, and then they would rassle. He didn’t like to come up on the couch much because he felt like he didn’t fit in the space he had, but sometimes he’d come up anyway so that we would be happy. We always gave him the dinner plate with more goodies (gravy, fat/meat bits, etc) than the one that Ruby got. He had a really fluffy tail and it went thump really loudly. You always knew when Oscar was happy, because of the thump.

It is pretty hard. There is a new kid, Fry, who will get his own blog post, and we love Fry, but it doesn’t make it less hard. I haven’t had to hasten myself to the bathroom at work in a few weeks, but a few times I’ve thought about it hard and decided to suppress. This whole thing is a first for me, and it really sucks a lot. I don’t really have a good conclusion to this but I guess it is its own conclusion. Life goes on for us without Oscar. It is sad and it is the way things go.
Oscar Good Dog

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