[R.I.P.] Smith DoggyDogg

My name is Smith, yes that is my first name. You see, I used to have a brother named Wesson and we're a pit bull/rottweiler mix, ergo the names. Wesson died from a stroke when he was about 3. He’d never been quite right, was really sick as a puppy, and we were lucky enough to have him around as long as we did. But I, well, I was part of the family for twelve and a half years. In my prime, I used to go rollerblading daily, doing most of the work, mind you. I threw out my knee more than a few times and had to give up skating once for six months or so. The neighbors got a kick out of it, one even getting me to pull him on a skateboard. I loved to play Frisbee, though I never mastered catching it in the air every time, but damnit I tried. I’d run all out and jump and twist, and at least knock it down. One of my favorite toys for so long was a piece of heavy knit fabric. Dad would tear it into strips and I would play tug-of-war with anyone who was willing. If no one was around, I’d just hold the fabric with my paws and rip it to shreds.
I never was a good traveling dog. I loved being in the car, but had to stand in the back seat with my head out the window at low speeds, and panting over the driver’s shoulder when going fast. I did this for five hours when we drove from Houston to Fort Worth during Hurricane Rita. I did it all the way back, too. My family always said I was a smart dog. I knew the safest place in the house during a storm was a windowless room, so I commandeered the bathtub at the first sound of wind or rain. I was polite and never snatched food off anyone's plate. I would sit at attention, drool dripping onto the floor, but I would never snatch or whine or beg. I'd wait patiently for “lickings.” I also had to smell what my people had been eating when they came home after dinner out. I loved creamed and sweetened coffee. And once ate an entire box of chocolate truffles mom had left on her desk where I could get them.
There was a time I hated staying home alone, and ate several walls and doors trying to get out to find my people. I learned to open the patio’s sliding glass door, and sometimes I'd get into the backyard and push open the gateopen, lie in the front yard under the shrubs watching for them to come home. I also chewed part of the framing off the edge of the house, and bit a whole in the backyard’s water pipe where it came out of the house. This when they tried leaving me outside instead of indoors. I was always a people dog. Never understanding that I was canine. I felt I was supposed to be where the people were, doing what they did all of the time. And I loved wearing clothes.
I wouldn’t bark or rollover on command, and forget getting me to heel. When I walked or biked, I was full steam ahead all the way, those pit bull muscles at work. I did know “sit”, “down”, “up”, “paw” (shake), “come” and “food.” I also knew “get front door”, “get backyard”, “go bus”, “get inside.” (I used to ride in the car every morning when dad would take mom to catch the bus to work, so “go bus” became synonymous with going in the car for a ride.) When the older of the two daughters would be on her way over to see me, all you had to do was say her name and my ears perked up and I sat “front door” at attention until she got there - and all happy hell broke loose. When I heard “squirrel on fence” or “get the kitty”, I’d tear out the back door to chase said squirrel or said cat out of the yard. And, no, I never caught either, er, not without suffering the consequences, anyway. But a cat claw to the eye wasn’t enough to diminish my chasing fun.
I was never a bed sleeper. I had my own bed in the corner of the room with pillows and blankets (old New Kids on the Block and Popples sleeping bags), but most nights slept on the side of the bed where he snored like an old man. I had my first mast cell tumors removed almost three years ago, and the veterinarian gave me two years to live. Then I was diagnosed with kidney problems, and the doctor gave me one year to live. Since then I had five cancer surgeries, and made it two and a half years, but was put to sleep November 4, 2006. I was a great friend, and a happy dog. I was smart, and a big part of the family for twelve and a half years. I loved to eat red Twizzlers, and had a package all to myself about a week back. I loved cheese and peanut butter, and digging both out of my Kong toys. A good long-time family friend brought me a hamburger the day before I was put down on her way to work, telling me goodbye with a kiss on the head... And I passed bad doggie gas all night long.