It's taken me three days to write this; I still have tears in my eyes. If anyone has noticed I'm a little grumpy lately, this is probably a contributing factor, and I apologize. I lost the world's best dog this week and it's awful.
This is a post I placed on a photo album with pictures of him elsewhere earlier today but I wanted to share it here too because I know many of my friends here have beloved critters in their lives.
Our beloved Ratatouille, Toui for short. Found in 2008 as a stray, most likely a year old, hairless and naked, eating garbage out of someone's trash cans in the middle of a cold December in Cleveland, Ohio, he was taken in by someone who had the good sense to recognize his breed and contact Crest-Care, a Chinese Crested rescue group. Our good fortune began then, as he was soon handed over to the foster home of Suzanne Yancey, who was a friend of mine through an online forum for Chinese Crested owners. Sue posted pictures and videos of this crazy little creature, and I was smitten and in love and I knew I had to have him. Sue flew to Sacramento from Lansing, Michigan to bring him to us, and our love affair began.
Toui earned his livelihood on the streets the hard way and he was a scrappy little dude with a prey drive that was undoubtedly the only thing that kept him alive during his street days. He was an athletic and agile hunter who would climb trees to pursue his prey, getting himself into a few sticky predicaments as a result, as you can see in the photos. We still have no idea how he got into the one that's in our pictures here. It wouldn't have been easy. I took the pictures as my husband, Rick, fetched the ladder to get him down.
He kept our yard vermin-free for many years, sometimes it wasn't so pretty as critters (not excluding skunks) failed to elude him, but hunting was his instinct. Despite his lust for blood, he was a clown and a character in every possible sense.
Things he loved included: Treats, blankets (always begging to be fully covered, including his head- he remembered those cold Cleveland nights), coffee, alcohol (no, we didn't generally give him those, but you had better not leave them unattended), eating my earplugs (which passed through undigested), eating paper, playing with and eating toilet paper off the roll which was fun during the great TP shortage of 2020, drums, loud music, band rehearsals, swimming in the pool to get treats, basking in the sunshine, getting his fleece on in the wintertime.
He loved playing with his ring toy, flinging around his Ikea rats, and humping his big dog toy. He loved chasing his own tail, dancing while getting his butt rubbed, and snuggling on the couch with his humans. Understandably, given his background, he was obsessive about food and would eat his and everyone else's food if given the opportunity. He crab-walked when he pooped. He would effortlessly leap from the ground to the porch, avoiding all three stairs, to come in from the back yard when called.
There wasn't much he didn't like, though he wasn't too fond of our dog Leo, and he liked to make sure Leo knew where he stood in the pack order, though he was never mean about it. Mostly he was a relentlessly happy little guy who begged for treats and wagged his tail right up until the end.
We got twelve good years with him, but cancer took him from us quickly. He developed a cough and was being treated for chronic bronchitis but soon developed a lump on his shoulder and bruising on his chest which led us to an unexpected discovery of advanced hemangiosarcoma which had metastasized extensively. Everyone was shocked, as he was still full of energy and not behaving like a sick dog. The vet was in disbelief.
We chose not to pursue surgery or chemotherapy, as he was advanced in years and we felt the cancer was too widespread for us to buy him enough additional time to be worth putting him through treatment. He felt good and we reasoned that he would be okay until he wasn't. That form of cancer is not painful, and though he seemed like he felt well, we knew his time was short. We began preparing for the inevitable. It was the best way. He got whatever he wanted after that, though he pretty much always did anyway. But I did sneak him some sips of wine. He always loved wine.
Three weeks later, on June 12, 2020, while attempting to run with the pack as they barked at the mail carrier, he suffered a ruptured splenic tumor and we took him to the veterinary ER to say our final goodbyes.
I know I described some of what he loved, but there's no way to describe just how he touched our lives and made everything better. Everything we do since he is gone is different. I had to watch where I left my coffee cups, my wine glass, my earplugs, I still find myself policing these things, now for no good reason. We had beds for him in the rehearsal room that are now empty. He was a huge presence, hugely loved, and hugely missed.
Run free, Bubba. Momma loves you always.
This is a post I placed on a photo album with pictures of him elsewhere earlier today but I wanted to share it here too because I know many of my friends here have beloved critters in their lives.
Our beloved Ratatouille, Toui for short. Found in 2008 as a stray, most likely a year old, hairless and naked, eating garbage out of someone's trash cans in the middle of a cold December in Cleveland, Ohio, he was taken in by someone who had the good sense to recognize his breed and contact Crest-Care, a Chinese Crested rescue group. Our good fortune began then, as he was soon handed over to the foster home of Suzanne Yancey, who was a friend of mine through an online forum for Chinese Crested owners. Sue posted pictures and videos of this crazy little creature, and I was smitten and in love and I knew I had to have him. Sue flew to Sacramento from Lansing, Michigan to bring him to us, and our love affair began.
Toui earned his livelihood on the streets the hard way and he was a scrappy little dude with a prey drive that was undoubtedly the only thing that kept him alive during his street days. He was an athletic and agile hunter who would climb trees to pursue his prey, getting himself into a few sticky predicaments as a result, as you can see in the photos. We still have no idea how he got into the one that's in our pictures here. It wouldn't have been easy. I took the pictures as my husband, Rick, fetched the ladder to get him down.
He kept our yard vermin-free for many years, sometimes it wasn't so pretty as critters (not excluding skunks) failed to elude him, but hunting was his instinct. Despite his lust for blood, he was a clown and a character in every possible sense.
Things he loved included: Treats, blankets (always begging to be fully covered, including his head- he remembered those cold Cleveland nights), coffee, alcohol (no, we didn't generally give him those, but you had better not leave them unattended), eating my earplugs (which passed through undigested), eating paper, playing with and eating toilet paper off the roll which was fun during the great TP shortage of 2020, drums, loud music, band rehearsals, swimming in the pool to get treats, basking in the sunshine, getting his fleece on in the wintertime.
He loved playing with his ring toy, flinging around his Ikea rats, and humping his big dog toy. He loved chasing his own tail, dancing while getting his butt rubbed, and snuggling on the couch with his humans. Understandably, given his background, he was obsessive about food and would eat his and everyone else's food if given the opportunity. He crab-walked when he pooped. He would effortlessly leap from the ground to the porch, avoiding all three stairs, to come in from the back yard when called.
There wasn't much he didn't like, though he wasn't too fond of our dog Leo, and he liked to make sure Leo knew where he stood in the pack order, though he was never mean about it. Mostly he was a relentlessly happy little guy who begged for treats and wagged his tail right up until the end.
We got twelve good years with him, but cancer took him from us quickly. He developed a cough and was being treated for chronic bronchitis but soon developed a lump on his shoulder and bruising on his chest which led us to an unexpected discovery of advanced hemangiosarcoma which had metastasized extensively. Everyone was shocked, as he was still full of energy and not behaving like a sick dog. The vet was in disbelief.
We chose not to pursue surgery or chemotherapy, as he was advanced in years and we felt the cancer was too widespread for us to buy him enough additional time to be worth putting him through treatment. He felt good and we reasoned that he would be okay until he wasn't. That form of cancer is not painful, and though he seemed like he felt well, we knew his time was short. We began preparing for the inevitable. It was the best way. He got whatever he wanted after that, though he pretty much always did anyway. But I did sneak him some sips of wine. He always loved wine.
Three weeks later, on June 12, 2020, while attempting to run with the pack as they barked at the mail carrier, he suffered a ruptured splenic tumor and we took him to the veterinary ER to say our final goodbyes.
I know I described some of what he loved, but there's no way to describe just how he touched our lives and made everything better. Everything we do since he is gone is different. I had to watch where I left my coffee cups, my wine glass, my earplugs, I still find myself policing these things, now for no good reason. We had beds for him in the rehearsal room that are now empty. He was a huge presence, hugely loved, and hugely missed.
Run free, Bubba. Momma loves you always.
