Sunday, November 15, 2009
Last week, dear Aja, mentioned in the previous entry, shuffled off to Buffalo. He was nearly 13 and had a pretty good life for a dog: all the laundry he could ever want to sit on, all the carrots he wanted to eat, a nice shell driveway to scratch his butt on, and the adoration of several otherwise reasonable adult humans. No other dog touched me the way Aja did, and he will be deeply missed. My mom and brother buried him under my apartment window (some of the last soft soil left on our oak tree-addled property), so I can say Good Morning and Good Night to him every day. Thank you for visiting, beloved Aja.