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In November 2006, my ex and I moved Ohio so she could attend OSU. We had two dogs at that time and she kept pressing me for another.
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I'd said no a ton of times, but come February she and I were out eating and I was having a rough time finding a job and got a good buzz goin
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She took me to a pet store. Petland in Hilliard, OH. To have me play with the dogs there. I saw a French Bulldog in person the first time
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He was just about 3 months old and was all paws and ears. White w/ big black spots. I fell for that little idiot right away.
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Time came and he kept growing. I had no reference for French Bulldogs but everyone said he was huge. All I knew was that he was mischievous
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I took him everywhere. I taught him how to high five, how to sit. How to wait to eat. I took him for runs and for car rides. I was obnoxious
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I remember when he got fixed. I opted for every specialty they had. It cost an additional $136. I made 9.50/hr at that point. No regrets.
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A little over a year later, we found a tumor in his leg. They removed it and he was clear. They never thought they'd get it, but he was good
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I stressed out for months about it, but it never grew back. The doctors were really surprised and impressed. Dude was a trooper.
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He was protective and he was loyal. A buddy of mine once said, "When you think of man's best friend, you think of Lyle" That's true
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He's also a jerk. He marked everything. He tore up cushions and fought other dogs. He tried to hump everything. He constantly masturbated.
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I've joked that he is a dog from Jersey Shore for awhile. Lyle the Situation. Testosterone in dog form.
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When my ex moved back out to Seattle a couple of months before I did, he went nuts. He destroyed a floor in our rental house.
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He didn't want to be without me. He didn't like that I was gone and the vet told me that he punished me when I came back. I understood.
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Lyle and I have been pals for over 10 years. He's been with me through some of the hardest times of my life and also the best.
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I always joke that he's an old man and that he's going to outlive all of us just to spite us. Just to fart on our graves.
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He's an asshole, but he's my asshole and he's my friend and he's part of my family.
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A few weeks ago, my friend Amanda noticed a lump on his forehead. It wasn't there just a day before. It was big.
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My wife, Racheal, called the vet. She scheduled appointments. It sounded like maybe liquid. He's old. It's potentially from a tooth problem.
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Then the news came back. Malignant osteosarcoma. It's spreading quickly. It's pushing on his skull. It's pushing on his eye.
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He has, at most, 6 months left to live and every day is a cry fest. He doesn't understand at all. Every day is his normal
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That might be one of the harder parts. Slow, increasing pain is adapted to quickly with dogs. Each day, that's just how it is now
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He doesn't get a swift and peaceful death in his sleep. He just has to wake up each day with a tumor pushing further into his brain
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We were offered the chemo route, but he's old. High dose would likely kill him. Low might give him a few more months, but with new symptoms
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The vet says we need to act normal around him. Treat every day like it was any other day and so here it is buddy. I'm gonna pretend.
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I'll still criticize your farts and tell you to stop masturbating around company and when I'm on calls.
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I'll still tell you to not lick your paws and will call you out for trying to sneak it when I turn around
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I'll still build a chair fort around Walter's cat box and food every night so you won't eat both of them. You're gross, btw
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I'll still run full speed around the block with you and give you shit for being an old man who can't run 4 miles anymore (I can't either)
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I'll still take you around to places I know you're appreciated: non-dog parks (as mentioned: total dick), near bear bars, near gyms
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Sidenote: if you're into big, muscular, hairy gay dudes, come take Lyle for a walk around C.C. Attle's. He's a magnet.
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I'll still flip your ass over when you start snoring loudly even though you groan at me for doing it
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I'll still "accidentally" drop food on the ground, so you can snarf it up while simultaneously not rewarding you for begging
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I'll still poke you and pester you and high five you and dance with you on your hind legs and sing songs about your shaking nub
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I'll still make up new nicknames every week to call you, which you always respond to because of the tone of my voice
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I'll still talk out work problems with you, even though you groan and sigh and turn around to try to go back to sleep
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And I'll do all of this while pretending that I'm not worried this might be the last time you know it's me doing it.
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I love you Lyle Lyle Crocodile, Mayor McFarts, Chief, Don Puppadupalus, The Original Nub Shaker, Smelmo, Little Buddy, Lyle McLyleson
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And I'll be right beside you until this unknown and arbitrary date where you're not "Lyle" anymore.
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2017 has been a cruel joke. Fuck this year and fuck cancer for taking this world from you and for depriving everybody else of your life
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Today’s the day. I can’t sleep. I’m a mess and this motherfucker is snoring too loudly.
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I want puppy pictures but a divorce and a hard drive crash and there we go. I have almost nothing before 2010. This sucks.
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Winter 2008. Columbus, OH. It’s cold. A ton of snow. We have a dog door, but it’s closed. I let Lyle out the back to poop and close the door. I hear running then *crash*. Head right into the metal dog door cover. I’m laughing. Walk over to open and he backs up and does it again