Ripper turned fifteen today.
Quite amazing for a Labrador, although unofficial records say that others have lived to anywhere between twenty-four to twenty-nine years of age.
He was a pet shop special, probably from a puppy mill, bought in the days before I even realised they existed, much less knew how awful they were.
Sold as a pure-bred, we received a phone call a few days later informing us 'the vet' thought there was 'something else' in him, and would we like to return him?
There was no way that was going to happen.
Ripper barely set a foot wrong, even as a puppy, apart from the odd escapade with Whoopi (who died in 2011) where they ended up in the pound.
There have been times over the last couple of years when I thought he wouldn't last the week, but he keeps on keeping on, albeit really slowly these days.
He is the most gentle, smart and intuitive dog. I don't think there'll ever be another one like him.
Happy birthday, old mate.
