Later today, Fiona and I will probably take our last ride together. She’s been failing slowly over that last few months, more quickly the last few weeks, rapidly this week.
I’ve been looking for a “sign”, the sign they always tell you about. The one Clara gave me when she was ready to go. Louie gave no sign. We came home from a walk one day and, while I was getting ready for school, I heard a “thunk” in the living room. He was gone before I got there.
But, Fiona is a fighter. She’s fought cancer, bounced back from the surgery to remove a rock in her intestines, suffered my ministrations as I cleaned her ears every other day to fend off chronic ear infections. She’s fighting now, too, but this time, I can see that she isn’t winning. For the last week at bedtime, I’ve been telling her it’s OK if she doesn’t wake up. I’d understand. But she is a fighter.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And so, after school today, we will drive to the vet. I am expecting that she won’t be coming home, but I don’t know that for sure. Vets won’t euthanize a dog that shouldn’t be euthanized, but I think he will.
Here she is in 2009, a year after I got her. This has always been my favorite picture of her.
Funny how it is so much easier to write about this than it is to talk about it.
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