Earlier this week, one of my blog friends, Brigid, over at Home on the Range, wrote a heart wrenching post the day her beloved Black Lab, Barkley, died. I knew it was coming. Barkley had bone cancer. But there is always that hope. Maybe he really didn't have bone cancer. Maybe they could cure him. Maybe. . . The mind can justify anything.
I'm headed down that road right now myself. Molly, my 12 year old Lab, has cancer of the bladder. Sometimes I'm in denial. I will admit it. The vet could be wrong. Whoever ran the urine test could be wrong. . . Then there are the signs that I try to ignore. She spends more time in her cage than usual. She forgets her house training at times. Then there are the good signs. She still gets excited when I give her a raw bone. She loves to get attention. I took her for a walk this weekend. Okay, maybe she didn't go at her old pace, but I know she enjoyed getting out.
My hairdresser told me recently that she had a dog many years ago and when it died, after a long life, she swore she would never get another dog because she could not deal with the death of a dog again. You know the day you bring home a squirming-into-everything-puppy that someday you will have to say goodbye.
I've done it twice before now and each time it throws your mind and body into a turmoil for weeks or months. You never forget the feeling.
Molly has been a good dog. She knows my feelings. She knows when I've had a bad day. She knows I will take care of her. She has more intelligence and sensitivity than a lot of humans I have met. She has given me years of happy moments. Kids grow up and leave home and don't need you anymore. A dog needs you until the day it dies.
A bit rusty
3 hours ago