I'm sure not feeling like my happy cheerful self today. About six weeks ago good old Sheba, our dog, took a trip with us to the vet. She is old and has diarrhea. The vet said it was almost guaranteed that she hadskidney problems. After all she was part golden retriever, and she has been with us nearly sixteen years. That's well over a hundred doggie years. Everything else was fine so I numbly hoped for the best.
Lately Sheba has been spending far too much time holed up in her dog house and yesterday she didn't come once to check out her food dish. When I looked in on her, she, although still beautiful on the outside, was skin and bones and looked so tired and weak.
Okay, that's enough. She has to move into the house. I cannot have her dying, feeling abandoned and all alone, in the doghouse when she has been such a faithful and loyal friend all these years.
She was reluctant to move in the house, after all the other part of her is Alaskan Malamute, but in this case I'll say 'mama knows best.' Her favorite doggie blanket will come along. But tomorrow we will need to go back to the vet. For the last time.
How can you put a dog to sleep when she looks up with you with such love in her eyes and thumps her tail every time you come around?
How can you dig a grave, even in one of her favorite resting spots beneath the lilacs when she is still alive?
