I’m very sad to inform you that the real life Kirby died this morning. He was 11 years old, which is a long life for a basset hound, especially a larger one like Kirby.

We’ve known for a while now that Kirby’s time was limited. He was having seizures brought on most likely by a tumor in his brain. The vet told us there was no reason to put him down as the medication kept the seizures at bay and he seemed otherwise happy and healthy.

I probably held on to Kirby too long. Which is why I find myself in this horrible position of being out of town when it was his time to go. It’s been suggested to me by a friend that maybe Kirby wanted to spare me the extra grief of being there when it happened. It’s a comforting thought. I’m told dogs know these things. It certainly wouldn’t surprise me.

Ashley was there for him when things took a turn for the worse last night. She called my brother this morning and Brian came and sat with Kirby until the vet opened. He reports that he and Kirby spent their final moments at home watching the biography of William Shatner. I fitting end as Kirby was the William Shatner of dogs.

I’m holding it together until I get home upon which I will start a week of mourning for my friend. I plan on completely and utterly losing my shit. Right now I just want to feel some comfort in knowing that Kirby is finally at rest, free of the body that was failing, after having lead a very full life.

I’ve always been a dog person. I’ve always had dogs. But I’ve said for years that Kirby would be my last. Not because I’m over dogs, far from it. I just know that no other canine, despite how talented they may be, could top that last act.

Kirbicus, King of bassets. Rest in Peace.
1998-2009