Carson passed away yesterday, on my aunt's birthday. She had to put him down because his health had deteriorated and he was suffering.
He was a good boy. Early in his life, he would bark incessantly at men (I remember a weekend my parents were dogsitting, and my dad just decided not to be around the house after listening for a couple of hours), but as he aged, whatever abuse of fear from his past faded, and he became affectionate and docile. My grandmother called him Barrymore because of his dignified profile which he showed to everyone (especially if you were petting him).
He was a loyal companion and a gentle pet. When it comes to dogs, that's all that really matters.