Over the past few years, our dogs have been passing on. We have had as many as five. Then, four.
After Nan passed, we became three. Today, we are two.
They don’t live long enough and so we have to live with the sad knowledge that in the future — near or far — we will be saying goodbye.
Amber has had cancer for a while. We knew about it. It was past fixing. For the better part of a year, she seemed okay. As long as she had a decent quality of life, we were okay too.
During the past few weeks, she had been going downhill. Sleeping most of the time, not interested in much of anything, though she was still willing to get up for a biscuit. Most of the time. Sometimes, she would wait on the sofa and hope we’d bring it to her. We did.
Garry believed she was in pain. And she had that terrible death smell that people and animals get when something awful is going on internally. It was time to bring it to an end and we did.
The other dogs are very quiet today. They know. They always know. Bishop is not in great shape either. I worry about him. It’s difficult to absorb so many losses in such a short span.
There will be other dogs, I know. When there is room at the inn, somewhere is a dog who needs a home. Meanwhile, I do not think our dogs will sing again until at least one more voice can join the chorus.