I brought Pierre home when he was about two months old. I adopted from my local shelter, he was some sort of black lab mix. He lived with me for a a while and was an awesome dog, but then he went on vacation at my grandparents house during finals that year (1993, I think) and he fell in love with my grandparents and vice-versa.

Pierre led a very happy and pampered life on the mountain with my grandparents. My grandfather took him for walks every day on our property and made him toast for breakfast (with butter if you please!).

Pierre died on Monday, on the way to the vet for a visit. He had congestive heart failure and had been doing well (the vet would drain the fluid every so often), but then he took a turn for the worse. He was 12.

I know I’ve got better pictures of him, but this is what I found right away to post. Pierre was always at my grandfather’s side, here sitting right next to his chair.


You were such a good dog, Pierre. We’ll miss you!