He was a newborn when I met him. 15 days or so. I immediately fell in love for that little fellow. I never thought by then, that I'd watch him die, over 18 years later. Slowly. He fought to the very last minute - even his breathing stopped minutes before his heart. In 18 years, he never got sick. Not once.
I have this impression that on his last days, he was suffering more because his body wasn't responding to his still strong wills. His legs were so weak he could barely walk, he was practically dragging himself - but he would still try to run after me. It was almost funny how his eyes were so full of life to his last day - that happened to be today.
No, he didn't go peacefully in his sleep as we would like to. He struggled, and this morning we knew he probably wouldn't make it to another dawn. Last night he walked for the last time, then laid on the corner he stayed to his last breathe. Spent all day there, an empty expression, no reaction. Ate a bit, drank a bit. His wide open eyes were still shining. He seemed to be daydreaming. Maybe he was already having a glimpse of the other side of the rainbow bridge.
I knew he would find his last sleep before I go to bed tonight.
He wasn't just a dog, he was a furry angel that stole a piece of my heart by the minute I first saw him.
And took it to heaven with him tonight.
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| Scene from Don Bluth's "All Dogs Go To Heaven", one of my favourite cartoon movies ever. |
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