Today, at about 3:20 pm, Biz crossed over the rainbow bridge. It was a nice, spring day, and he went outside for one last day in the sunshine before he came inside, lay down, and was suddenly gone.
He was 32 years old, and had used up at least 17 lives, so it wasn’t a surprise, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
My parents bought Biz for me when I was 14 years old, in January 1990, over 30 years ago. He was a two year old at the time, with no common sense, but he never really acquired much of that. He was spastic his entire life, spooking at nothing, barging through doorways and gates, always in a rush to get in for dinner. Unless it was spring, when on nice days, he would decide he wanted to stay outside, and whoever was trying to catch him could just go pound sand…
He was always high spirited, and full of piss and vinegar. He trotted around, blowing and snorting, with his tail in the air whenever he had the chance.
The first time I tried to give him an apple, he didn’t know what it was, and wouldn’t eat it, so I gave it to his neighbor. You better believe he never made that mistake again!
He let the cats ride him, but he loved to chase the dogs, and bite the cows.
He had a special talent for injuring himself or getting sick and was close to death at least four times that I can think of. He had an immense capacity for healing. He proved the vets wrong time and time again, living through horrific wounds, incredibly high fevers, equine influenza, suspected salmonella poisonings (yes that’s plural). We made bets on whether he would go out in a blaze of glory, or just lie down and go when it was time.
He was patient about being poked and prodded, unless you wanted to poke or prod his face. That required the good drugs…
He was a pain in the ass, but a sweet one at that.
I’m incredibly sad, but he lived a very good life, and he didn’t have to suffer a long, slow decline. Rest in Peace, Biz.