Good Girl

I took Sophie for a walk this morning, in the rain.

Actually "walk" is not the most accurate way to describe what we do.  When asked by one of the many neighbors she's caused me to meet, I usually describe it as "going for a sniff".  She's 10 years old, has arthritis in both hips and has synthetic ligaments in both knees, so she doesn't really tolerate long distances.  Instead, we go for four to six blocks, pausing often in favorite yards for a break and sniffing, what seems like, every possible smell she can find.  These short distances take us, typically, thirty minutes or more to complete.

She's always off leash when we do this, to be honest, I'm not convinced I know where the leash is at this point.  She does a pretty good job of staying by me but I really don't care too much if she wanders a little further from me than she should.  She's social with both people and other dogs, but I usually call her close because you never know how others might react to her.

I stood on the sidewalk, watching her blissfully roll in something (probably something disgusting) in somebody's yard, getting rained on.

And it didn't bother me in the least.

I told you that to tell you this.

Good news, bad news.

The good news is, I started my day by hanging out with the Beatle baby (Beatle toddler?) and the little Diamond.

The bad news is, I did it so my son and daughter-in-law could take their beloved boxer, Maggie (aka Good Girl) to the vet.

Her final trip to the vet.

Yes, THAT final trip to the vet.

Maggie was the first boxer I ever met.  She was a sweet, sweet dog.  She doted on her human babies.  And she filled huge portions of R and D's hearts.  And will for quite some time.

She would almost always greet me with a toy in her mouth, eager to play tug of war and she loved flashing "puppy eyes" to guilt someone into giving her a treat.

She was 11 years old and for most of that time she was pretty healthy.  Knee surgery slowed her down for a bit, but she recovered pretty well from it.  Recently, she was diagnosed with kidney failure and while the vet took great care of her and it looked like she was on the mend, it took it's toll on her, leaving her unable to stand without falling and only hobbling around the house.

Maggie had a huge heart and hid her pain well, I think.  But it ultimately became obvious there was no choice but to ease her suffering.

Now, before you say something stupid like "it's only a dog" let me just say something...

I've got the grief bona fides down pat, thank you very much, and if you doubt that read here, here, here or here and if you're still of the opinion I'm spending too much time talking about "a dog" save yourself some time and stop reading.  Grief is grief and none of us have the right to tell someone else they're doing it wrong.

Lose my web address too.  Thanks.

I also wanted to say something to the Boy Child and my favorite daughter-in-law, even though I think they both know it.  There may come a time when you decide to get another dog.  That's ok.

That time may never come.  That's ok too.

You'll know the time if it comes.

So I guess I'll wrap this up by saying-

If you've got a pet of some sort in your life, good for you.  Personally, I think they add so much more to our lives than they may be an inconvenience to us.  My life has been enriched beyond measure by the animals that I have been around.  I still, on occasion, think about some of the ones I've lost.

Even Tobi, the Jack Russell terrorist.

And always, I smile at their memories.

Take good care of your pets, they do so much for us, and all they ask in return is a little love.

It seems to me they're getting the bad end of the deal.

Peace.