Milk Tongue

Conor, our boxer, passed this morning. He was almost 13 years old. Patient, calm, solid, snuggly. He was my first dog. He was my children’s first dog (they couldn’t have gotten a better one). He never complained about their rough snuggling or attempts to ride him like a pony. Never growled, never nipped. If they got too annoying he would just get up and move. There’s nothing like a big warm dog to make you feel safe when your husband is on the road and you’ve watched too many episodes of Law and Order.  I will miss him so very much.