Guster Favre Westerman

Like all of my most favorite things in this life, you were wild and you were free.  

I won’t hold on to the last month because it’s too sad and it’s not fair to you.  I think my father in law, your co-owner and best ranching pal said it best, “You’ve got to decide whether all the weeks of sadness at the end counters all the 12 years of fun and loving.”  

I’ll remember looking out on the ranch and seeing your white paint brush dipped tail, a mile away, on the next best scent.  I’ll remember bringing home Beck and you looking at me like, “You’ve got to be kidding me with this.”…it never was quite the same for you and I, as my time and attention was diverted, but you knew and I knew.  I’ll remember picking you out of the cardboard box in that Walmart parking lot, your pot belly and seemingly lazy disposition (which you and I both knew on the drive home that was an act).  I would warm up milk and lay by you while you drank it because I wanted you to think I was your mom.  I was.  I’ll remember you teaching us a little bit about how selfish we innately are and how I had to inconveniently drive to Jeremy’s townhouse to let you out, even though I didn’t want to.  I’ll remember you playing with your best friend Oliver; you chewing on sticks and him, chasing his tennis ball.  I’ll remember you helping our sweet neighborhood friend get over her fear of dogs.  That’s a really cool thing to do, Gus.  It’s cool to be the dog that shows a child what the best kind of dogs are. 

I’ll remember how naughty you were.  Man, you were naughty.  I would find you on our kitchen table daily. I’d step in pee downstairs when you were feeling frustrated. You used every available opportunity to flee our home and joy ride around the neighborhood.  You’d chew on furniture and dig holes through dry wall.  You hunted down not one but two of Abby’s retainers to snack on.  You would steal entire granola bars and turkey sticks out of Beck’s hand.  Maybe you’ve been preparing me for a lifetime of sons? I’ll let you know if it helped me out when I get there.  Tell Sully we all say hello and Maggie my mom misses her.  

You were gentle and kind.  You were patient with all of us, especially when we were our at our worst.  You always came back.  You were excited to see everyone who walked through our door.  You were funny and you were handsome, right up to the end.

Your hair is entwined in every piece of clothing, every rug, every chair, every bed; a symbolism for what you’ve been to us.  You are entwined into almost 12 of Jeremy and I’s 13 years together and we will never forget you.  

I told my friend Anna that I was so sad you didn’t get to go to the ranch one more time and she told me your heaven will most likely look just like the ranch.  I’ll cling to that, old boy.  Give those rabbits your best.