Pardon me, our good boy, Maxwell "Tornado" D'Errico.
He was 7, he had been relatively healthy before that week, and it was so very, very hard to let him go.
If you've never shared your home with a (giant, lovable, loud, crazy-friendly, eating-machine-security-blanket of a) pet, your might not quite get how such an animal could be a family member.
But he was, simple as that.
Maybe someday I'll write out the whole experience, once I've sorted the whole awful night out in my head and I've made my peace with it. But while I still hate going in the laundry room because that's where his crate and toys are, while almost every day at breakfast I forget and drop a crust on the floor specifically so he can munch it, while I still re-remember twenty times a day that we don't have a family dog anymore... yeah, I don't have it in me to write that post right now.
So we're just going to enjoy some Maxy moments instead.
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