When I was 12, our dog Fuzzy acted like he was some crabby old man, so we decided to get him a puppy to perk him up a bit. Pop found an ad in the paper for black standard schnauzer puppies, and we thought we'd go check'em out. So, we dragged our asses out to BFE, saw the puppies, and promptly left with my favorite one, the little male with floppy ears. We named him Howard, and he was my dog.
He did all the cool puppy things: he cocked his head to the side when he was confused, he barked at his own reflection, he fell over for no good reason, and he tormented Fuzzy like it was his job. Howard used to do this thing where he would run up under Fuzzy (also a schnauzer), grab his beard, and then take off running like hell. Half the time, Howard just pulled out Fuzz's beard, but the other half, Fuzz actually got hauled along for the journey. This game was short-lived, Fuzzy's beard got chewed/pulled off, so he had a saucy moustache for about 6 months, which was hilarious. Dogs+moustaches=awesome, it's a mathematical fact.
As Howard grew up, he was my constant companion. Howard became a stunningly beautiful dog who was a true gentleman and an emapthetic soul. Sometimes, he would walk over to me, put his head in my lap, then look up at me and wag his tail, that would just kill me.
Unfortunately, Howard died this past Friday, and I miss my friend desperately.
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