He was an old dog. He was a nice dog. He was a crazy dog. He barked when he should not. He digged holes where he should not. He went swimming when he should not. And he was getting tired. Very tired. And a bit fuzzy in his head. The story goes that lots of young Tsjips are running around in Brasschaat, dating back from the days when he was young and wild, and still had his balls.I knew it was about time I made some pictures of him, last week, on Thursday night. I did not get out my flashes - he hated them, was scared of them, thought it was some kind of lightning (which it is, of course - never underestimate the brain of our friend the dog).
The next day, now a week ago, he nicely went to sleep. Forever. Bye Tsjip.
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