Baby Dog and I are finding the cabin rather quiet and empty right now. Baby Dog no longer has to bark impatiently while she waits for me to bring Dog back into the cabin after a walk. She is strangely quiet and only an invading raccoon or a fearsome deer makes her break silence.
Dog was 12 and diagnosed with cancer in January. I’ve known since then that this time would come, though I can’t say that knowledge made the end any easier. He had good days and bad days and was pretty good through the Memorial Day weekend. He began to seriously decline the Tuesday after the holiday and by Friday I knew this time he would not bounce back.
On our last day together we shared some ice cream, a treat he had been denied for a while because of the special diet he needed in his last months, and then went to see some cows—a favorite activity for him.
Baby Dog and I both miss him.