He'd been riding around in the car (one of his favorite pastimes) earlier last night; we went to pick up my brother from the airport, and to drop Gus off at the theater. It was windy and raining, which he hated, so I was happy he was with me, instead of pacing around the house in his Thundershirt.
And then, to top off the wind and rain and tornado sirens, it was Halloween.
Sean loathed Halloween. Could not understand how we could remain so calm in the face of all these ... WHAT THE F*CK ARE THEY? THEY'RE SHORT AND LOUD .. AND EACH ONE LOOKS DIFFERENT, SO THERE'S LIKE ZERO CONSISTENCY. AND (AND!) THEY'RE TAKING OUR STUFF!
Every time a new batch of trick-or-treaters knocked on the door, he would go completely insane, barking like a lunatic, rending his garments, and shaking his paws to the heavens, like it was the end of the world. Again.
So I have to hand it to him for for finally flipping the big furry bird to this loathsome chaotic holiday.
I am also enormously grateful for the way he died. At home. At night. With me (petting him and singing him his favorite song). Without extended suffering. Without us having to put him down or decide things. My brother (welcome to Nashville, Gordon! Isn't this fun?!) was with me. And he is a comedy writer, who could appreciate (and add to) my intermittent flashes of gallows humor as the night wore on. Gus and Larry got home from Into the Woods in time to say goodbye, which was sweet and beautiful and sad. And Patrick, mercifully, fell asleep without realizing what was happening.
As far as dying goes, Sean could not have done it better. He was the best dog, in life, and in death. And while I'm so sad I'll never smooch that furry face again, I'm so happy he was mine.
Love you, my sweet bat-eared boy.