He hailed from a hoarders nest in Louisiana. He was rescued with 10 of his brothers and sisters, from a residence with over 100 dogs, and brought to New Jersey. I put in pre-adoption papers as soon as I saw him on Petfinder, and took the train over from NYC, snatching him from the clutches of an older woman with huge rock hard tits that reminded me strongly of Ursula. She offered me money to pass on adopting him, so she could have him. I declined. The rescue agency was thrilled that someone “so young” was excited to adopt a senior dog. After all, he was somewhere between 3 and 7 years old. Or was he older? No one knew. Half of his paperwork said 6, the other half said 9. I called it 8, to be safe. His name was Sly (like a fox!), but he became Crash on that chilly February day. Almost immediately he needed 14 teeth pulled. He handled it, no sweat. He had health scare after health scare, medicine after medicine, but remained a happy, feisty, bright light. My little boy was always a trooper, to the very end. I really had started to think that we might still have years together, despite his myriad health conditions. But Crash decided it was time to go on Thursday, and left this world peacefully on his furry little bed in the sunlight, while I was in the next room. He was 18 years old. Crash Override, Cwaesh, Crashula, my little C Bean - no amount of time with you on this earth would have been enough. I am so grateful for the years we shared, and all the joy you brought to me, and everyone around you. You are forever in my heart, until we meet again.