Today we put our 13-year-old dog to sleep. (I’m writing on Thursday the 19th of July, but posting next week). After 3 attempts to place her in a new home, and talking to experts and rescues who agreed the risk was too great for us to keep her, but also that she would likely be a candidate to be abused by someone else should she nip at someone who hasn’t loved her for her entire life, we came to the extremely difficult decision of letting her have a great last day and being surrounded by love when she died.
The night before, Poppet came out to say good-night to “Puppy” and get her toes licked. The next morning my husband woke me up to say my own good-byes, get lots of hugs and scratches, and even let her lick my face (forbidden territory). Then he took her to work with him, he shared a Poutine for lunch with her, and even let her ride in the front seat with the window wide open with no regard for the amount of fur flying around the van. He stayed with her through it all, and said she was so very good.
He had one of the most difficult days of his life.
She had one of her best.
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