RIP Woody Morey 10.04.1996 – 06.11.2014

I named him Roosevelt, but somehow over the years it became Woody. Woody came to live with me in 2004 after he was dumped at the merced shelter by some people who were done with him. He lived the first 8 years of his life with them, chained up in their back yard. Then I spotted him at the shelter. Woody wasn’t a trainers dog, he wasn’t fast and flashy, he was really naughty in a criminal kind of way. I dont know why I adopted him but it was the best move I have ever made. He was dirty, skeletal, had a huge tumor on his head and most of his teeth were broken off. But I took that messed up old dog for a walk and he met a drunk homeless man with a beard, a tweaker wearing a hoodie, a screaming trio of toddlers, a reactive dog, a bicyclist and a slew of other potential unstable dog markers and he was unfazed by it all. He just bounced along wagging his crazy little half-a-tail and let everyone pet him. I took him home to meet my old dog Ed and Ed liked him. And that sealed the deal.
He got his CGC, TDI, learned a bunch of silly tricks (king of the high-five!) and gave out a lot of solid advice and friendship in his years as a therapy dog. He was easy, and he was the rhythm of our house. He was the first one to greet me when I got home. He loved to finish the last bites of my cereal in the morning, no matter how early I got up. Truth be told he was also a totally bad dog who would break into a bear box to steal your last saltine.
He loved patrolling his new yard, greeting the neighbors, hanging out in the garage while Micah worked on the motorcycles and sitting on the porch. He loved going on errands in the truck. He loved to play chase games and he could still go on a 4 hour hike with the whole pack at 17 1/2 years old. Micah was his best friend, he would have been lost without his True and he loved his little guys Zero & Roy.
He was an old carny, vaudevillian, a grifter, whiskey drinker, a railroad hobo, junkyard dog, punk rock 4 life and he read everything Bukowski ever wrote. He was fucking perfect.
We lost our punk rock dog today. True to form he was going strong having the best life ever and then his batteries just fell out with no warning. 
Woody you made everything better then it ever could have been and we loved you.

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