Resistance is Futile – Remembering Fletcher

We lost Fletcher on Friday. I was sitting in the backyard enjoying a glass of wine Wednesday evening while the dogs played. He grabbed a pear from the tree, as he’s done hundreds of times, and I let him have it. He coughed part of it up, and apparently aspirated on it. On Thursday he wasn’t well. We took him in and X-rays showed pneumonia. We bolused 5L of fluids and thousands of dollars of antibiotics but it wasn’t enough. He went septic and passed the next morning.

Fletcher

Fletcheroni Pony

Scruffy Muppet

You made us a 6-pack. I wanted an Irish Wolfhound for so long. The biggest of the bigs. We knew we were crazy, but at that point, what was one more? So your registered name was appropriately, Resistance is Futile.

You were the gentlest of giants. It was mind-blowing watching you grow from a little burrito-sized pup into a 180 pound, 6’2” wonder. You had two modes of moving – the long-legged shuffle around the house and the bouncing pony in the yard. You loved to play with the other dogs, goading them into chasing you around, only to watch them have to turn on the turbo jets while your long legs covered three times as much ground without trying. All the while your giant tail swiping back and forth acting like a rudder.

The house is way too quiet and no one howls to alert me of incoming deliveries…or random leaves…trespassing in the front yard now. You had the weirdest compulsion to ding the bells on the door to go out the moment we sat down for dinner, and frankly I don’t even want to sit at that table anymore knowing it will be uninterrupted.

I miss the way you would come up behind me and shove your giant head between my arm and my side. The way you twisted your head and moaned for ear rubs or flopped your body around for belly scratches. I still push loaves of bread to the back of the counter thinking you’re going to sneak off with them, surgically removing the contents and leaving nothing but the wrapper. Carbs were probably your favorite thing, second only to truck rides. The minute you’d hear Adam’s truck turn on, you’d rush to the door hoping you got to go. I am so grateful Adam had been taking you for trips around the neighborhood recently just to make you smile.

I am so sorry we couldn’t save you. You were one of the coolest dogs I’ve ever met, and I miss you so much. Please go find Mama Mastiff and Jake and Hannah. Run around like a giant goober, ride in the truck every day, and eat all the bread and English muffins. I’m so sorry, big boy. We love you.

Please hug your pets an extra time tonight. I had no idea I would lose my sweet boy so suddenly.