Love you, pup.

My dog, Ripken, was put to sleep this weekend.  He was a weird dog, to be sure.  As a puppy he was a pain in the ass and all of my friends were either scared of him or annoyed by him.  He barked too much and too loud, he was a tad aggressive, and often, even right after a bath, he smelled funny.  Mark once used a $30 bottle of mom's shampoo to wash him with, to make him smell better.  Essentially, Mark payed thirty bucks for the dog to smell halfway decent for about four minutes.  He ate my socks, chewed on the furniture, and often peed on the carpet. But he was a good dog, he was my dog, and I loved him.  He was very loyal to the family, and once even defended our home during a break-in, scaring the intruder nearly to death (and who wouldn't be scared of such a huge dog!).  He always seemed to know, in the way that a family dog does, when anyone was sad or lonely.  If he thought you were feeling low, he'd sit on your feet (if you were on the couch) or on your lap, or just curl up with you, and lie there with a look on his face that said "Oh, I know.  Trust me, I know."  And I really think he did.  That dog was there for me during some of my darkest days when people just didn't cut it.  I got in a lot of extra cuddle-time with him when I was home last, but I still wish I'd gotten to say a proper goodbye to my pup.  He's better off now, and he's no longer in pain, but still.  I'll miss him.