When I was a junior in high school, one of my all-time favorite dogs died. Her stomach developed quite a few issues (let's just say I'll never feed any animal of mine table scraps again) and surgery only prolonged her suffering. We had to put her down the day of my chemistry test (the teacher let me sit there for three hours to finish it... I was a disaster).
All this to say, for my birthday, my parents gave me a pug to try and fill that void that Kelsie left behind. I named him MacGyver after my childhood hero (and everyone else's I'm sure ;). Ten years later, MacGyver is a gray-haired old man, a limper, no longer able to hop up on the couch, though he still acts like a puppy when he hears that first crack of a banana peel or he sees you munching on carrots.
Yesterday, I went to my parents house (he lives with them... attached to my mom's feet) and did a little photo session with my old pumpkin. He was gorgeous in his black-faced day, but even through the salt and pepper, I can still see my baby Mac. He's still my little MacGyver.
