The day after we introduced Chaucer to his boys, he declined rapidly; we think it was a stroke. Christopher nursed him all yesterday, his healing hands worked magic massaging Chaucer's tired broken body, fed him Pediasure by dropper, and made sure he was warm and loved.
Last night he was put to bed, I checked on him around 2am and he was still with us. But this morning Chris came into the bedroom with Chaucer cradled in his arms, in a towel, "...He's gone."
Chaucer would have been 2 years old this coming January. He came from a line bred for longevity. Mother nature fooled us again.
R.I.P., beloved Patriarch.