I'm going a little bit off topic today.
Our black labrador retriever, Django of BJ Blues, passed away this morning. He lived for 11 years, 4 months and 2 days.
When we first got him, he was already a year old and was huge. For a family who has never had dogs, we were unprepared. Add to that the fact that he came with another labrador retriever, a yellow female, Makena of Shambala.
They loved popping bubbles with their mouths. They loved chasing the light shone by flashlights, trying to bite it. They chewed on slippers and anything they could get their paws on.
A few years later, Macky became sick. Whenever she would cry in pain, Django would whimper in sympathy. It was like he wanted to comfort Macky. On November 1, in 2004, Macky had to be put to sleep.
Django still remained a bundle of energy, even as he aged. He still chewed on everything he can. He was a big dog and when he'd offer me his front paws and stand on his hind legs, he was as tall as I was. And as he grew older, I found he had graying hair.
Once, as I was heading to school, I was wearing a white shirt. He had just been bathed so I was trying to make a quick getaway to avoid being splashed on with water. When he saw me, he jumped on me. I had very distinct paw prints on my shirt, smack-dab on the chest. I had to change but I couldn't get mad. How could I when he was just trying to show some love?
I will miss you, Django. Tell Macky I miss her, too.