Lose this, lose that, lose this again. Thus has been the rhythm of my year, things I feel ambiguously about leaving me confused and so sad in their wake.
The dog has stopped eating. My parents and I got her some wet dog food, because, as I suspected, she’s very into eating for fun still. She’s just not interested in eating for sustenance. And wet dog food is fun. My dad was like, “I think this is it” and I tried to argue, “I know we are at the end. But I don’t know if this is the end so to speak.” Yes, the not eating is the two minute warning, but can’t we run some plays, see if we can’t stretch things out? Come up with some last minute miracle?
Last night, she slept with me, as she normally does. And she peed the bed. Not only that, she didn’t wake up until I woke her up because I was like “Yuck, why is my bed so cold?”
That’s it, then. When the Butcher gets home, we have to put her down. You can’t ask someone who has been so good to you for so long to sleep in her own piss because you’re afraid of your own broken heart.
And I am glad and relieved that I don’t have to ask that of her, that I can ease her on out of this world before her suffering is too great. But I want to cry for a while, too. For a very long while.
I don’t know how to stand this and yet, for her sake, it must be stood.