We killed Pepe today.

No, don’t worry; not with a saw, a spade or a pitchfork. And we didn’t even do it ourself. The vet did the dirty work with two injections. This photo was taken during the dress rehearsal on Sunday. I dug his grave and Alison let him try it out.

Eight years ago Pepe and I got off to a rough start. He bit me the first time I slept in his (and Alison’s) bed and ate half of my expensive mouth guard a week later. I wrote to a friend that this licking Chihuahua monster was awful. But over the years we got closer. And because Alison was away a lot I took care of him a lot in the past months. Fed him every couple of hours, regularly carried him outside so he could pee (and didn’t do it all inside) and tucked him in under his blanket.

I’ll miss him.

For a longer report of the events, illustrated with my photos, I direct you to Alison’s story, I’m too tired to type more right now.

On her weblog above you can also find some previous posts she wrote (eloquently) about the final weeks of Pepe.

And you can follow this link for much more Pepe.

(No need for sympathies in comments or emails; he had a good life and we’re fine.)