One sad part of having a dog is that there's always the inevitable day when they get very old, and then they leave you.
Otis was born in early 2005. I received him from someone else in late 2015, and he was close to 11 years old. Most people wouldn't want to take in a dog that age, but I didn't hesitate to do so.
I did think I would only get about two years with him, since the average pug only lives 12.75 years, and he was very large for his breed.
Instead, he lived out 5 1/2 more years, and stayed surprisingly healthy until near the end, when he started to deteriorate from an unknown illness. Some people pressured me to put him down this year, but he seemed to still enjoy life, and could still eat and walk normally. I just couldn't bring myself to do it -- not yet, at least.
This morning, after eating normally late last night (a burger, one of his favorite foods), he passed away in his sleep.
He was almost 16 1/2 -- the oldest dog I've ever personally known.
So I got 5 1/2 years with him, and at least he spared me from the inevitable sad day (soon) of having to choose to end his life.
It was during a walk with him in mid-October 2018 when I first felt a "crack" in my horrible, crushing psychological issues -- ones which I thought I might be stuck with for life. With no one else around at 2am, I said out loud, "Otis! Can you beleive it? I think I'm coming back!"
The below picture was taken in June 2020, when he was 15 1/2. Look how good he looked for his age! He no longer looked anywhere near this good anymore, but he lived a very long life in great health.
RIP Otis 2005-2021