(See "The Doggy Hospice" post below for a fuller explanation.)
The inevitable took place some time during the day today; Benji hobbled toward the light and did not return. We buried him this evening at sunset; I did the honors of bagging him up, as I didn't necessarily want my wife to have to see him as he was, waterlogged and muddy and stiff. It's best that she remember his last days as a dog that seemed pretty happy here for the two months-plus that he graced our immediate lives.
Was it right for us to take him out of Mrs. Tamble's parents' house to live out the remainder of his days here? I don't know. On the one hand, I wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought of taking him out from his environment - he seemed to be suffering plenty as it was, and the shock of bringing him here probably wasn't a pleasant one. On the other hand, the dog was 19 or 20 years old and barely sentient. He spent the last of his days outside, in the fresh air (and, admittedly, the rain), and even managed to walk a little better than he did at my in-laws' house, where he would just drag himself along by the front paws.
Oh well. Right or wrong, it's done now. And I'd probably do it again in a second if asked. (Not by you, though. Don't get any ideas.)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please note: My policy at Bramble Tamble is to not use real names for private citizens. I hope you will adhere to this policy; hell, it's my only rule here. (But you can use your own real name if you'd like. Cause I'm magnanimous like that.)