There is a gaping hole in our hearts: Kirby has passed away. He was almost 16 years old, and he LIVED a happy, wonderful, puppy-perfect life. Almost up until the end, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between Kirby and a frisky, frolicking puppy – he was bursting with life and joy and happiness. He was known and loved by so many people, and probably had been in more business establishments in Great Falls than most people.
He loved steak, antelope, chicken, and of course treats. Not a big fan of seafood, though. Tolerated being dressed up occasionally (Underdog, pirate, dinosaur, king, etc). He picked his own name: the names Elvis and Mojo were offered when he was a tiny pup, and he said NO! He knew that he was a Kirby, and that is what he chose as his name. And the term “shoot the duck” took on a whole new meaning with Kirby.
And what breed was Kirby? He was half poodle, half yorkie, and all man. Dog fanciers call that type a “yorkie-poo” but that somehow sounds too dainty. I think he preferred to think himself as a “porkie.”
Truly the bestest pup in the world, and as I mentioned in an entry a few months ago, my bestest little buddy in the world. Now he’s chowing down on ribeye and sipping beer somewhere else. We will always remember how happy Kirby was, and how much joy and love he brought into our lives.