Fort Worth, Texas

Lox. He was my wife's dog when I met her.

This Beagle ate to live and lived to eat. During his incredibly long and obstinate life in he ate an entire bottle of vitamins, drank Scotch, ate six hotdogs and two bowls of ceral in one setting, and even ate sheetrock. He was a shark in a dog suit. If he was moving, there was food.

He was like the smelly, eighty year old uncle who came to the family parties and passed out at the table.

For some reason, we loved him.

At one point he had to have a CAT scan to see why he was stumbling around. They had to shave his head. A Beagle with a shaved head can be excused for a lot of weird behavior. When they found a tumor in his abdomen, they operated. The tumor was so large that he wound up with a lot of loose skin. At one point, he actually stepped on his own penis.

We should all be so lucky.

After he died, we buried him in the side yard. I placed a huge rock over the grave. Terri asked why. I told her it was to keep him from being dug up by other animals, but in reality, I was afraid he might sniff a waft of bar-b-que in the neighborhood, and come back for one last nosh.