The last of my parents' dogs is dead and they are devastated, having decided that they're too old to have any more dogs going forward. The vet came around and stopped his heart this afternoon. It's been almost a year (nine months) since his partner passed away. I still don't feel anything other than a little sad when I remember her.

The poor thing suffered a stroke two nights ago, which left him paralysed down one side and unable to stand on his own. My folks and I agreed that he wouldn't rally and recover at his advanced age (over fourteen years). That was it for him, I'm afraid. No wheeled contraption would have worked to extend his already long life.

Even though he was an annoying, lazy and fat git towards the end, I'm going to miss him terribly, just like with my own pooch when she passed.

Now it's up to me to find a place of my own and have my own dogs. Securing the means to do so (a solid, well-paying job) is still proving difficult.