My dog died at sixteen Tuesday. A big German Short Haired Pointer, he was a good friend, kept me fit until he couldn't hike any more, total chick magnet -- he was very handsome, loved the girls, put his head right in the snatches --, and now he's dead.
I buried him in my garden, and I find myself incredibly sad. I keep having false moves to give him the bone from the ribs I was eating, or to check to make sure he was comfortable. I look out my window to stare at his grave, remembering this sweet, goofy fuck of a buddy.
Is this normal? Is the bond a man has for a dog this deep, or am I being an incredibly pussy? I've had plenty of death of people I've deeply loved, but this has been the worst. Thoughts please, fellas.
I buried him in my garden, and I find myself incredibly sad. I keep having false moves to give him the bone from the ribs I was eating, or to check to make sure he was comfortable. I look out my window to stare at his grave, remembering this sweet, goofy fuck of a buddy.
Is this normal? Is the bond a man has for a dog this deep, or am I being an incredibly pussy? I've had plenty of death of people I've deeply loved, but this has been the worst. Thoughts please, fellas.