Thursday, June 24, 2010
about 14 years ago, a 6-month-old bundle of black and white fur leaped into my arms. We had told the rescue lady that we didn't want a puppy, but she insisted on bringing along this mutt, she thought he would fit into the family. He moved with me from Seattle to Arizona to Georgia to Texas and finally here, to California.
When I was pregnant, no matter where I was, he was with me - if I got up to pee in the middle of the night, he woke up and camped outside of the door until I went back to bed.
He's been slowing down recently and couldn't hear so well, but still loved food and would follow me anywhere.
Today when I came home from running errands, he couldn't get up, not for me, not for a treat. The vet said, basically, he was dying. So I stayed with him as they shaved a bit of his leg and injected the bright pink fluid into his leg and it broke my heart.