(CELEBRITY PETS) Sarah Silverman’s beloved rescue dog Duck, a frequent star of the comedian’s tweets and photos, sadly passed away at the age of 19 last Tuesday. Duck was an adorable Chihuahua-pug mix whose muzzle had gone white with age. To pay tribute to her friend, Silverman wrote the most beautiful, heartwarming obituary for Duck, reminiscing about their time together and expressing her sadness on the day she had to let her friend go. Our hearts go out to Sarah. Read on for more on Sarah’s obituary and her relationship with her best friend. — Global Animal
E! Online, Natalie Finn
For Sarah Silverman to get so serious, it must have been love.
The comedian’s dog, Duck, died yesterday at the estimated age of 19 after being in poor health for some time, prompting a heart-felt tribute from Silverman, who at first shared the sad news on Twitter and then wrote an “obituary type thing” on WhoSay.
“It always tickled me that even though we were different species He was my best friend,” she first tweeted shortly after midnight Wednesday. “Duck left me today but I forgive him.”
Silverman—who had some of the night’s best lines at the Comedy Central Roast of James Franco, which premiered Monday—then expanded on her feelings for Duck earlier today, thanking her fans for all of the kind words and support in the wake of her loss.
She wrote about rescuing Duck about 14 years ago from a no-kill shelter in Van Nuys, Calif., and that he was “a happy dog, though serene. And stoic. And he loved love.”
He had become deaf, blind and arthritic over the last few years, however, and he recently stopped eating and drinking.
“I couldn’t figure out this hunger strike. Duck had never been political before. And then, over the weekend, I knew. It was time to let him go,” Silverman continued.
She wrote that her boyfriend, comedian Kyle Dunnigan, skipped work and flew to L.A. to be with Silverman and Duck during their final hours together.
“We laid in bed and massaged his tiny body, as we love to do—hearing his little ‘I’m in heaven’ breaths” until the vet arrived to administer “basically an overdose of sleeping meds.”
“I held him and kissed him and whispered to him well passed his passing,” Silverman concluded. “I picked him up and his body was limp—you don’t think about the head—it just falls. I held him so tight. And then finally, when his body lost its heat, and I could sense the doctor thinking about the imminent rush hour traffic, I handed him over.
My longest relationship.
My only experience of maternal love.
My constant companion.
My best friend.