Kermit took his final breath on Sunday, June 22, 2014, in the arms of his heartbroken mom and dad. Kermit came into his mother's life on April 11, 2005. It was love at first sight for them both. On their first night together, she knew she had found her best friend.
Kermit was a graduate of the Summer 2005 Puppy Head Start class at the Annapolis, Petsmart. From that moment on, Kermit worked diligently on his "sit" and "lay down" skills, which to him were interchangeable.
Throughout his life, Kermit was partial to his rubber chickens and loofah ladies. He ran circles around the other dogs at the dog park, and could jump four feet in the air. The only thing that surpassed Kermit's circus dog skills was his ability to love.
Kermit made friends wherever he went, although he never quite won over his Grandpa Padley, who couldn't seem to get past K's affinity for the carpet underneath the piano. His Grandma Padley eventually came around to Team Kermit, learning to love K's cuddles in bed, and affectionately referring to him as her "hot water bottle."
Over the years, Kermit proved to be an excellent judge of character. He met and tested his mommy's suitors, letting her know which ones were acceptable and which ones were not. In the end, however, only one passed Kermit's rigorous tests, and that man ultimately gave Kermit his last name and completed his family.
Kermit was the quintessential bad ass. He was a trooper. Like many before him, he lost his cookies at six months. At age eight, he had his tail partially amputated. And just before his ninth birthday, he had surgery to remove a non-cancerous tumor that was invading his sweet little brain.
At home, Kermit was the ultimate caregiver. Through illnesses, migraines and break-ups, he never left his mom's side. And most recently, when she lost her babies, he took her pain away with his kisses and snuggles.
If you ask Kermit's friends, they will tell you he was the funniest, most human and most photogenic canine there ever was.
If you ask his daddy, he'll tell you that Kermit was the glue of their family. He made his brother and sister's transition from their parents' divorce to their dad's remarriage smooth and seamless.
If you ask his mommy, she will tell you that Kermit was the best thing that ever happened to her. He taught her that nothing is so bad when you have your best friend by your side. He taught her the meaning of true, unconditional love. She will tell you that in the last nine years, there wasn't a day that she didn't think of her stinker and smile. Even now, in her heartache.
Kermit is love. Even at the end, he made everyone happy. The way he tilted his head when spoken to, like he understood every word. The way he popped up in every direction from under the table at dinner, like a Whack-A-Mole. The way he nestled his head under his mommy's chin and let her hold him like a baby whenever she wanted. The way he tore through the house, like a bat out of hell, stopping only to make sure everyone was watching. The way he tunneled under the covers at bedtime. The way he opened the bathroom door at the most inopportune times, if left unlocked. The way he lured his parents into playing Hide and Seek by lurking under beds and barking until they came to find him.
The way he looked up at his mommy, in his last moments on this earth, as if to thank her for loving him enough to end his suffering.
Kermit is survived by his family, Andrea, Ray, Dominic and Mia.
Kermit was a graduate of the Summer 2005 Puppy Head Start class at the Annapolis, Petsmart. From that moment on, Kermit worked diligently on his "sit" and "lay down" skills, which to him were interchangeable.
Throughout his life, Kermit was partial to his rubber chickens and loofah ladies. He ran circles around the other dogs at the dog park, and could jump four feet in the air. The only thing that surpassed Kermit's circus dog skills was his ability to love.
Kermit made friends wherever he went, although he never quite won over his Grandpa Padley, who couldn't seem to get past K's affinity for the carpet underneath the piano. His Grandma Padley eventually came around to Team Kermit, learning to love K's cuddles in bed, and affectionately referring to him as her "hot water bottle."
Over the years, Kermit proved to be an excellent judge of character. He met and tested his mommy's suitors, letting her know which ones were acceptable and which ones were not. In the end, however, only one passed Kermit's rigorous tests, and that man ultimately gave Kermit his last name and completed his family.
Kermit was the quintessential bad ass. He was a trooper. Like many before him, he lost his cookies at six months. At age eight, he had his tail partially amputated. And just before his ninth birthday, he had surgery to remove a non-cancerous tumor that was invading his sweet little brain.
At home, Kermit was the ultimate caregiver. Through illnesses, migraines and break-ups, he never left his mom's side. And most recently, when she lost her babies, he took her pain away with his kisses and snuggles.
If you ask Kermit's friends, they will tell you he was the funniest, most human and most photogenic canine there ever was.
If you ask his daddy, he'll tell you that Kermit was the glue of their family. He made his brother and sister's transition from their parents' divorce to their dad's remarriage smooth and seamless.
If you ask his mommy, she will tell you that Kermit was the best thing that ever happened to her. He taught her that nothing is so bad when you have your best friend by your side. He taught her the meaning of true, unconditional love. She will tell you that in the last nine years, there wasn't a day that she didn't think of her stinker and smile. Even now, in her heartache.
Kermit is love. Even at the end, he made everyone happy. The way he tilted his head when spoken to, like he understood every word. The way he popped up in every direction from under the table at dinner, like a Whack-A-Mole. The way he nestled his head under his mommy's chin and let her hold him like a baby whenever she wanted. The way he tore through the house, like a bat out of hell, stopping only to make sure everyone was watching. The way he tunneled under the covers at bedtime. The way he opened the bathroom door at the most inopportune times, if left unlocked. The way he lured his parents into playing Hide and Seek by lurking under beds and barking until they came to find him.
The way he looked up at his mommy, in his last moments on this earth, as if to thank her for loving him enough to end his suffering.
Kermit is survived by his family, Andrea, Ray, Dominic and Mia.
Kermit took his final breath on Sunday, June 22, 2014, in the arms of his heartbroken mom and dad. Kermit came into his mother's life on April 11, 2005. It was love at first sight for them both. On their first night together, she knew she had found her best friend.
Kermit was a graduate of the Summer 2005 Puppy Head Start class at the Annapolis, Petsmart. From that moment on, Kermit worked diligently on his "sit" and "lay down" skills, which to him were interchangeable.
Throughout his life, Kermit was partial to his rubber chickens and loofah ladies. He ran circles around the other dogs at the dog park, and could jump four feet in the air. The only thing that surpassed Kermit's circus dog skills was his ability to love.
Kermit made friends wherever he went, although he never quite won over his Grandpa Padley, who couldn't seem to get past K's affinity for the carpet underneath the piano. His Grandma Padley eventually came around to Team Kermit, learning to love K's cuddles in bed, and affectionately referring to him as her "hot water bottle."
Over the years, Kermit proved to be an excellent judge of character. He met and tested his mommy's suitors, letting her know which ones were acceptable and which ones were not. In the end, however, only one passed Kermit's rigorous tests, and that man ultimately gave Kermit his last name and completed his family.
Kermit was the quintessential bad ass. He was a trooper. Like many before him, he lost his cookies at six months. At age eight, he had his tail partially amputated. And just before his ninth birthday, he had surgery to remove a non-cancerous tumor that was invading his sweet little brain.
At home, Kermit was the ultimate caregiver. Through illnesses, migraines and break-ups, he never left his mom's side. And most recently, when she lost her babies, he took her pain away with his kisses and snuggles.
If you ask Kermit's friends, they will tell you he was the funniest, most human and most photogenic canine there ever was.
If you ask his daddy, he'll tell you that Kermit was the glue of their family. He made his brother and sister's transition from their parents' divorce to their dad's remarriage smooth and seamless.
If you ask his mommy, she will tell you that Kermit was the best thing that ever happened to her. He taught her that nothing is so bad when you have your best friend by your side. He taught her the meaning of true, unconditional love. She will tell you that in the last nine years, there wasn't a day that she didn't think of her stinker and smile. Even now, in her heartache.
Kermit is love. Even at the end, he made everyone happy. The way he tilted his head when spoken to, like he understood every word. The way he popped up in every direction from under the table at dinner, like a Whack-A-Mole. The way he nestled his head under his mommy's chin and let her hold him like a baby whenever she wanted. The way he tore through the house, like a bat out of hell, stopping only to make sure everyone was watching. The way he tunneled under the covers at bedtime. The way he opened the bathroom door at the most inopportune times, if left unlocked. The way he lured his parents into playing Hide and Seek by lurking under beds and barking until they came to find him.
The way he looked up at his mommy, in his last moments on this earth, as if to thank her for loving him enough to end his suffering.
Kermit is survived by his family, Andrea, Ray, Dominic and Mia.
Kermit was a graduate of the Summer 2005 Puppy Head Start class at the Annapolis, Petsmart. From that moment on, Kermit worked diligently on his "sit" and "lay down" skills, which to him were interchangeable.
Throughout his life, Kermit was partial to his rubber chickens and loofah ladies. He ran circles around the other dogs at the dog park, and could jump four feet in the air. The only thing that surpassed Kermit's circus dog skills was his ability to love.
Kermit made friends wherever he went, although he never quite won over his Grandpa Padley, who couldn't seem to get past K's affinity for the carpet underneath the piano. His Grandma Padley eventually came around to Team Kermit, learning to love K's cuddles in bed, and affectionately referring to him as her "hot water bottle."
Over the years, Kermit proved to be an excellent judge of character. He met and tested his mommy's suitors, letting her know which ones were acceptable and which ones were not. In the end, however, only one passed Kermit's rigorous tests, and that man ultimately gave Kermit his last name and completed his family.
Kermit was the quintessential bad ass. He was a trooper. Like many before him, he lost his cookies at six months. At age eight, he had his tail partially amputated. And just before his ninth birthday, he had surgery to remove a non-cancerous tumor that was invading his sweet little brain.
At home, Kermit was the ultimate caregiver. Through illnesses, migraines and break-ups, he never left his mom's side. And most recently, when she lost her babies, he took her pain away with his kisses and snuggles.
If you ask Kermit's friends, they will tell you he was the funniest, most human and most photogenic canine there ever was.
If you ask his daddy, he'll tell you that Kermit was the glue of their family. He made his brother and sister's transition from their parents' divorce to their dad's remarriage smooth and seamless.
If you ask his mommy, she will tell you that Kermit was the best thing that ever happened to her. He taught her that nothing is so bad when you have your best friend by your side. He taught her the meaning of true, unconditional love. She will tell you that in the last nine years, there wasn't a day that she didn't think of her stinker and smile. Even now, in her heartache.
Kermit is love. Even at the end, he made everyone happy. The way he tilted his head when spoken to, like he understood every word. The way he popped up in every direction from under the table at dinner, like a Whack-A-Mole. The way he nestled his head under his mommy's chin and let her hold him like a baby whenever she wanted. The way he tore through the house, like a bat out of hell, stopping only to make sure everyone was watching. The way he tunneled under the covers at bedtime. The way he opened the bathroom door at the most inopportune times, if left unlocked. The way he lured his parents into playing Hide and Seek by lurking under beds and barking until they came to find him.
The way he looked up at his mommy, in his last moments on this earth, as if to thank her for loving him enough to end his suffering.
Kermit is survived by his family, Andrea, Ray, Dominic and Mia.
