I hate September. I should like it, what with my birthday, school starting, and the beautiful weather (in NYS), but whenever trouble is brewing, I know if something bad happens, it will be in September.

Rudy died on Sunday. The positive news is that he had a good quality of life until Saturday morning, he was happy and active. He had a really good week last week. His birthday was last Saturday, the day before mine, and he turned 10. He did not have a lot of appetite, but on that morning he ate a Dentabone, something he had not wanted in weeks. On Tuesday evening, he was even playing with his toys. But he had very bad blood in his urine since Thursday – that was his main symptom since January, but it was not that bad since going to the holistic vet.

Anyway, he really started to bleed Thursday and Friday. He had a stroke Saturday morning. My guess is that a clot broke off from the tumor and went to his brain. It really impacted his left side. We sat a vigil with him all day and all night, taking turns. Then on Sunday he must have had another stroke, and he quickly died at about 5 pm. I’m glad we didn’t have to make the choice to euthanize him, since I really don't believe in it, but I think we may have had to do it if he lingered much longer. We knew it was the end as soon as his mobility was impacted, because going for walks was his main joy in life.

We took him to Samsonville that evening and despite my father having the same cold I do (he said it was a Category 5 and now is a Category 2. Funny. I guess mine is now a tropical storm), he dug a grave with his backhoe and we buried him next to my parents’ dog Hobo, who was Rudy’s best buddy. Before his cancer diagnosis, I always imagined he’d live to be 14 or at least 12. Bob says that he had such vitality, that he wouldn’t have been happy with the slow decline of age, as an old, sensory-deprived dog, the way his predecessors Howie and Penny were. And maybe he is right. He walked on his leash for the last time on Friday. But I am left with this feeling - although I love all animals, especially dogs, I know from experience that Rudys don't come along all that often, and 10 years is way too short of a time to have such a great dog.

Memories of his mischevious ways, of the things he liked to do come in waves. If you looked up "happy" in the dictionary, there should be a picture of Rudy. He loved winter and I will always think of him joyously rolling in the snow after a storm. He liked to hold things "hostage" - dirty underwear, coins, you name it - and extort treats as payment. He always checked the grocery bags for Dentabones. He knew "paw," "sit," and "speak." Oh, there are so many things I could write, but I think I will end this memoir with that, for now.

Two nice pictures are posted here, as well as the tribute I wrote on his eighth birthday. Rest in peace, Mr. Wuj. There can be no doubt that you were welcomed with open arms in heaven.