White Dog is dead.
He belonged to our next door neighbor and Brigit adored him.
She's been looking for him every day and David told Bern today he died a couple of weeks ago.
His real name was Westie and he was 14 years old--blind and deaf for several years but could still smell Brigit.
They would meet at the fence and wag and sniff and pee.
He got into our yard a couple of times and Brigit was in White Dog heaven.
And now he is gone.
Bern was crying when she came back from talking with David.
He hadn't told us, he told her, because it was so painful to him.
My contention is that when dogs die the pain is acute for us--but it fades quicker than when people die.
Farewell, White Dog!
We will miss you.
Especially Brigit.
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