No baked goods today folks.
This post is entirely dedicated to my beloved Bambi, who passed away last Saturday.
Yes, she was named after the famous one. And, yes, I do know now that Bambi the deer is a boy.
Bambi came to my family in 1997 as a small, runty, bug-eyed puppy. She was our first dog, and one that came after much shameless begging and empty promises on my part. Within the first week, we had experienced toilet accidents, near miss crush injuries, food issues, and had also managed to misplace new puppy in a memorable incident (she fell asleep in the couch lining). Bambi quickly grew into a young dog with a lot of attitude. Despite her stature (small even for a Cavalier), she was feisty, often challenging the German Shepherd who lived nearby. She was a leash puller her whole life, and never got past 'sit' in obedience training.
Bambi loved chicken and cheese. She barked at her own reflection. She was on occasion accidentally drunk. She reluctantly befriended cats, and later other dogs, but only when it wasn't dinnertime.
Bambi was an expert at picking our moods. She knew when we were happy, sad or angry. She also knew when she had done something bad, reliably making herself scarce and plastering a perfect guilty look on her little face. She was always happy to see me, and slept on my feet in winter.
Bambi has had 2 litters of puppies, one dislocated leg, a case of lead poisoning, and a heart murmur. For a runty pup with a wonky eye, 15 years was an achievement I think.
On Friday evening I came home to a Bambi who was very unwell. She wasn't eating or drinking, was terribly restless, and looked to have a mean headache. She wasn't walking straight, was displaying signs of headpressing, and did not seem to register our presence. We opted for euthanasia the next morning.
I'll miss you so much, bug-eye puppy.