Bruiser died today. Suddenly if not unexpectedly. He's been on medications for his heart for years, and could barely make it around the park without getting short of breath, but he still wagged his tail and pranced for joy until the last, like all good dogs do.
He was 11 years and one month old today. Here's a picture of him with his siblings. You can tell why he was called Bruiser. He's the one with the blue collar.
Like all Scotties he thought he was bigger. Here he's playing (and winning) at Frisbee with his cousin Scout.
But this is how I'll remember him - tail wagging and wanting to play.
Good dog.
Good dog.
