This is Einstein. He was the most wonderful, sweet, brilliant, and amazing dog in the universe.
He was a spoiled brat, a little shit, and the happiest little guy you’d ever meet. He had his mommies, he had the awesomest ball EVER, and he got goodies.
On 29 June he had to be put to sleep. There’re reasons. I suppose they were good reasons or Shan and I wouldn’t have done them, but I desperately miss my baby and would give anything to have him begging me for food, kissing my face, and announcing to everyone in a 45 parsec radius that “Momma’s home!” again.
That, by the by, is a black-mouth cur. They’ve other names, but this one seems to be the one being settled on by those who are beginning to breed them deliberately, but go to any rural part of the south and find a granther with a porch full of dogs on some farm somewhere and he’ll have a few; and he’ll never give up the grown ones without someone getting shot, but he’ll probably have a few puppies he’s willing to part with.