My youngest daughter “adopted” a beautiful baby bulldog 10 years ago.  When first seen he had the most beautiful markings, the most gorgeous face, and the greatest disposition.  When he visited his “gaga” it was noted that he was either S#!tting, snotting, snoring, or rubbing some part of his anatomy on a seated person.  Still, gorgeous.

When he was about two or three months old my daughter called me from a nearby city sobbing.  Ceaser had eaten mushrooms.  There was nothing the vet could do.  He was going to die.  Nonsense.  I left school and headed to my house where I picked up a rocker, a baby blanket, a baby bottle and pedialyte.  For the next 48 or so hours I held and rocked a very sick little bulldog.  I forced fluids down him.  He looked up at me with the sweetest looks.  I told him “Just don’t give up, I won’t give up.  I know you did not mean to eat the mushroom.”  We both survived the poisonous mushroom attack.

I have driven three and four hours after school to go to Baton Rouge to pick him up for a weekend.  He always managed to be the nastiest thing in the house.  He fought with the Boston Terrier.  One fight caused me to receive a pierced nose, another fight left me with a huge gash that would not stop bleeding.  He always gave me the look “Don’t give up. I didn’t mean to do that.”

When he was three or four my daughter started adding children to her family.  Ceaser became toy, best friend, protector, and ride.  I would babysit and be amazed at the patience that dog offered.  Ceaser would occasionally give me the look of “Really?”  I told him “Just don’t give up. Obviously she did not mean to do that.”

I have been too sad to think about my buddy “S N S” in the last few weeks.  About three months ago,  he went into congestive heart failure.  A few weeks ago, he gave up.   His mom and dad were with him to the end.  His gaga misses his nasty ways.   I know he did not mean to leave us.


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