Gus turns 13 today. Back in April I was certain he would not make it to this birthday. I was even more certain in July when we confirmed he has cancer, decided not to treat it, and were told by the vet that most dogs don't live past six months with it - it was first noted as a possibility in October.
Well here he is, turning 13 and doing what he does, which is exactly whatever the fuck he wants, on his terms. And what he wants to do is have his 13th birthday celebrated with burgers and ice cream and a million wishes damnit.
I'm grateful for every day I've had with him since we brought him home in early October 2005, even (especially) the days when his mulish orneriness reared itself. Which has basically been every day. He will be with us until he's no longer comfortable, and he'll be sure to let us know when that is. He runs the show around here and he always has. If he attempts to pull some Blaze of Glory thing and die on or around Geege's anniversary, he's going to have some explaining to do from beyond.
But he doesn't give a fuck if he has explaining to do and until he decides to go, it's Gus's world. We're all just living in it. Happy birthday to the king.
More Gus posts:
And then came Gus
From the Desk of Augustus Gloop
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