His papers carry the name “Sunshine Patch” as chosen by my sister-in-law when she bought him as a puppy, but we all called him Sunny. He lived with her for a time, then with my in-laws, and finally he moved in with my family.
It would be tough to find a better dog. He was very friendly, yet would bark his fool head off when strangers approached the house (which is exactly what I wanted). He never bit anyone, and he was amazing with the kids, even when they were just starting to crawl and would pull on his fur, ears, or tail. He played catch from time to time, and he was always content to just lay near our feet and chill. In the summertime, he liked to stay outside and lay down in a shady spot in the grass.
This week, Sunny got sick. We didn’t think much of it at first, but then he stopped eating, and finally stopped drinking. My wife took him to the vet this morning, this afternoon we learned he was suffering from pneumonia.
My oldest son and I went to visit him shortly before 4pm, when the vet closed. The nurse took us back to the cage where they were giving him his IV of fluids and antibiotics. He perked up when he heard us, then stood up. The nurse opened the cage, and he walked out to greet us. I patted his head and held his chin.
A moment later he settled down to the floor, then rolled against the cage. I petted him, I gently tucked his tongue back into his mouth, and then I said goodbye as he breathed his last.
Goodbye, my friend. We miss you already.