A few months after our first dog, Spike died, Jenny was able to get another pup. Spike had filled our house with such joy that we couldn't imagine not having a canine pal hanging around, complicating our lives.
She adopted this little puppy and we named him Boomer. He quickly grew into his name.
I can't say that Boomer's always been a good dog, but he's been an interesting one, a puppy born with a cat's sense of entitlement.
Only terrorists are more destructive than Boomer was as a pup. He ate a bike seat, the throttle off a riding mower, the kitchen tile, and those are just the highlights.
But when my father died and I was packing to fly south, Boomer jumped on the bed and did something he'd never done before. He pressed the top of his head against my chest and held it there, giving me what comfort he could in the only way he knew.
Boomer has always had a sweet nature and he's inspired love from children and smiles from strangers.
He's had a good life but he can no longer stand on his own. He's tired, I know. Tired of not feeling good, and tired of the daily humiliation that comes from being old and infirm.
We've held off for as long as we could, until we thought it was selfish of us not to let him go.
Boomer is leaving us tonight. To say that we'll miss him shows only how poor words can be.
Boomer 1992 - 2008