Friday was a hard day. I woke up, feeling good and prepared to shake this pit I’ve been living in. I spoke to the Universe, talked to it, let it know what I needed and was prepared to live life to the fullest.
Then I discovered Dylan was not doing well. He was 14.5 years old, so I knew the end was coming. Just a few days before I had told myself he would last another year or two. After putting Nikki to sleep this fall, I wasn’t ready for another animal to die.
I pretended nothing was wrong, then called Jim. He came home and we took Dylan to the vet. He had had a stroke so we made the decision to put him to sleep.
He was the best dog. Our first “kid.” He thought he was a person first and a cat second. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that he was a dog. He was gentle and loving. And a great herder of kids–he was part Sheltie.
I’m still looking for him. I come into the house, knowing he’ll be laying on the other side of the door waiting for me. But he isn’t.
We loved you Dylan and we will miss you.