Although the fish pond and waterfall are coming along admirably, we've had a lot rain and sorrow the last week and a half. Doc and Charly lost Gustavo, their beloved red cocker spaniel, last week. Doc says it best in his own blog:

Gustavo was a serious little guy. He went about his job of being the family dog with purpose and intent. He was not, you know, just some silly puppy. He was a real dog, he seemed to say, and he wanted to be treated with the respect a real, meaning, big, dog would get. From the time I opened the door in the morning to let him out until he and I "walked the perimeter" at night to chase away whatever needed chasing away, he was all business. There was serious dog stuff to do everyday and he was just the dog to do it. Even playtime, when he would bring his stuffed Garfield and drop it at the feet of whichever of us he decided should play tug-of-war was done with a kind of "this is important stuff" attitude on his part. It was as if he were consciously entertaining us and not the other way around. He was loyal and dedicated to our little "pack" and was most content when we were all together. He could relax then, hang out and not worry about an absent member. Gus was, though, almost from the beginning, my dog. Whether he designated me "alpha", as dog trainers like to put it, or whether it was because I took him for long walks and frequent car rides, his favorite things in life and, with him along, a couple of my favorites as well, he became my second shadow. I grew, over his four short years, very accustomed to having him close at hand and always felt vaguely uncomfortable when he was not. I think Charly felt the same. For that reason, she and I made it a practise to take Gus with us whenever and wherever dogs were allowed. Nothing would put more sparkle in his eyes and move his stumpy tail to wag then hearing Charly say "you gedda go, you gedda go" as we walked to the car. And conversely, nothing would make his whole body sag and droop more than when we told him he had to stay home. At those times, we drooped a little ourselves. When he did "gedda go" Gus would prop himself happily on the back seat with his fore paws on the console between the front seats. This gave him a windshield view and enabled him to get to the serious business of warning other critters away. We were never able to cure him of growling ferociously at whatever beast we happened to drive by. After awhile we just quit trying. What the heck, it only lasted a couple of seconds and it seemed to make him so happy. With Gus, serious and happy went hand in hand. I have written several blogs about Gus, mostly humorous accounts of dog and man that I'm sure Gus would take issue with had he been able to read. Silliness, he would no doubt point out, is a human trait, and he was a dog. Dogs he would say, are serious creatures. Then he would roll on his back and wait for the tummy rub. Gus passed away a couple of night's ago at veterinary hospital in David where we had taken him for treatment of an undetermined illness. The vet said he died of a heart attack related to a heart ailment, probably an inherited condition. There is nothing wrong with my own ticker that I know of, despite the ache of loss that surrounds it. It is where Gus lives now, and always will.

And, in a later blog:

Woowoo Charly, RTGFKAR (Ramon, the Gringo Formerly Known As Raymond) and Yers Trewly are going about the business of getting used to being Gusless. It's a slow business. We keep seeing him in our minds eye in all those day to day moments when we would interact. Play time, feed time, walk time, treat time, bed time, spontaneous mess with the dog time. He's everywhere. But, of course, he's not. We are getting better though. We are able to talk a little about him now without breaking into sobs. We are even making plans to do this and that instead of just mope-ing around the house. Today we were going to play golf if it hadn't rained. It's October though. Rain is a regular feature. Our back up plan is movie rentals. I'm thinking something loud and heroic. Batman maybe, or Indiana Jones. Certainly nothing sad or soppy. It's a process, this grieving thing. We know that. And we know that grief will eventually fade and be replaced by something better. Good memories of happy times. It's a process. A damned, fucking, slow process.

Gus was dear to us, too, and we really miss him. He was, as Doc said, a very special dog. In fact, we came to meet Doc and Charly on a visit here prior to our move because of Gus. We were having lunch at a restaurant by the river when Doc and Charly arrived with Gus, only a puppy then. I got up and began playing with him, and a lasting friendship was born.

I'll write something more upbeat soon. As Doc says, we'll get through this--and the rainy season.