He came to us five summers ago with the name of Peter, a term of endearment going back two thousand years. He lived up to his name as his life was endearing to us as well. Pete was a black lab, the kind of old dog that everyone loves, but few are willing to adopt in their middle ages. Pete was always extremely anxious, most likely a permanent scar which caused him to leave his home and run away.
Woody, a much smaller Chihuahua mix, came along for the ride out of the animal shelter as Pete’s personal psychiatrist to comfort his much bigger brother. Through trips away, long nights, and thunderstorms Woody was there for Pete - an inseparable Mutt and Jeff tandem.
Then we came along and the love, comfort, and tasty, frequent snacks relieved Woody of his appointed duties. We instantly fell in love in Peter as well as his black lab predecessor “Old Man Mr. Earl.” He became our best buddy out of a dozen more rescue dogs.
Peter and Mr. Earl
Peter loved his hand fed snacks, but never bit your hand. He gently took them with this teeth, not squeezing his treat until your hand was removed.
The days came and the nights went, all so quickly.
Old people and old dogs tend to slow down. He even didn't mind his new buddy, our blind Boston Terrier Dewey, who could not see Peter was already there trying to sleep.
He loved swimming in our pond even though it was arduous task to extricate him up the banks of the refreshing pond water. At the top of his summer daily itinerary was a long bath in hot summer day in the kiddie pool.
First his back legs started to wither. Then a week ago, his front legs gave way.
He knew and we knew it was time - time to say goodbye until we meet again. He was out of wags.
Peter and little brother Dewey
Woody
We loved Peter. We always will.