It’s been a tough week. On Monday night, we said our final goodbyes to Spynn. He was born on my son’s 8th birthday in 2015 in our kitchen. I had no intention of keeping him until my kiddo named him and said “this one’s mine.” After that, he quickly became an entertaining member of the family.
He loved to back talk in ‘husky speak’ with his deep “Ro Ro Ro’s”.
He hated baths but loved playing in the creek.
He had a sweet tooth, which was made evident by his hulking 107 lbs.
He was an impressive target-pooper with pinpoint accuracy. Seriously. I’ve never seen a dog who liked to drop a load directly onto things. He could position himself in the most awkward places and accurately poop onto a small space.
He had a lot of nicknames. “Spynnacus” — “Spynnjitsu” — “Fluffy Buns” — “No! I Said No Dammit!”
He took up a lot of space, both literally and figuratively. And now there’s a hole in our home that doesn’t feel right.
We love you, Spynn. You were the “goodest” boy.
