My parents lost our family dog, Jordan, yesterday.
For the last twelve years, he's played a big role in our lives, and a loud one.
You see, Jordan suffered from an anxiety disorder, as in I-want-your-toast-anxiety, give-me-your-carrots-anxiety, and you-are-having-a-conversation-and-not-paying-attention-to-me-anxiety. When in these situations, he would whine faintly, then louder, reaching a full-bark crescendo until you gave in.
This was especially enjoyable when riding in the car. For years my parents have taken road trips with Jordi whining over their shoulders from the back seat. No amount of rawhide or rescue remedy would turn down the volume, but he loved to travel so they couldn't bear to leave him at home.
They brought Jordan home more than a dozen years ago from the SPCA after my mom saw an ad describing his year-long stay in the shelter. We called him our "junkyard dog" because no amount of grooming or primping could make him look otherwise. Yet he had deep, dark, soulful eyes and adorable little triangle ears that could hear the sound of the biscuit jar half a block away.
Recently, we discovered he had hemangiosarcoma (a form of cancer somewhat common in dogs) that could not be treated. He did have some chemotherapy to make him more comfortable, but yesterday his gentle heart gave out.
Long may you run, sweet boy.