Letting Louey Go

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Eight-years old and a lifetime of love. Louey was a Boxer with one tooth that always stuck out, a tongue too long for his mouth, and a docked tail we lovingly called his “gas cap” – for obvious reasons. I swear he had a motor in that little nubbin.

Whenever the garage door went up, he’d be there, waiting by the kitchen door to greet me when I got home. His tail would wag at the speed of light and he’d be holding his “baby” – a ratty, old stuffed rabbit he’d safeguarded for years. That’s when the prancing and pretzeling began.

Lou didn’t like to cuddle, but he was a toucher. He also shadowed me everywhere I went, regardless of whether he knew where we were going.

He liked to have his hindquarters scratched, but not his back and definitely not around the ears. You could trail your fingers along his sides and watch the skin ripple and flinch repeatedly. Messing with his ears brought on a “kickle-itch” attack every time.

Boxers are strong, sleek, and muscular, and Louey was no exception. He loved children, but had a BIG bark that would make a grown man back away. At heart though, he was such a coward. This sixty-five pound beast once confronted a six pound Yorkie…and ran away! From a cat, too. And a squirrel. A bird. And let’s not forget the evil vacuum cleaner. And the broom.

He didn’t care much for thunderstorms, always seeking a reassuring pat or if we weren’t home, a hiding place under the bed. And Lou had to be the only dog in the world not motivated by food. Oh, the games we would play to get his meds down.

Such a funny guy. Happy. Trustworthy. A real sweetie. Brave, too (to a point). It was hard to let him go, but it was harder to watch him suffer.

I miss Lou.  And I still look for him at the door when I come home.

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