My Mauser...
Mauser, our now 11-year-old Belgian Malinois mix, that we rescued from NY AC&C a year ago, passed away last night. Friends shared his urgent photo on facebook, and I saw it, read the description, and decided he should be ours. I reserved him online an hour before his time was up, and we drove to Manhattan the next day to pick him up and sign the adoption papers on Sept. 20, 2014.
He was set to be killed because he was 10, had kennel cough, and bad teeth. He also had arthritis, that we managed to keep at bay until the last few months. His description spoke to me, because he was described as being like a grandfather, but spunky. My grandfather was always spunky, so it seemed as if he was sent to me. Mr. Kipper, well, humored me by agreeing to adopt him, and driving up there to adopt him.
Spunky, he was. Once he was over the kennel cough, he became very spunky... He pushed a kitchen chair out, hopped on it, and then from there, hopped onto the kitchen table to get to a package of treats. At Christmas, at my parents' house, I stood up, took my plate into the kitchen, and when I returned to the dining room table, found that he'd taken my seat, and was sitting at the table, waiting to be served his Christmas dinner.
He was our goofball--always a goofy smile, usually acting silly, and always looking for treats. He was the snuggler in the pack. He never met a dog he didn't like, and would take off with his stiff not-quite fast gait to go greet a dog.