With great sadness yesterday, I gave the order to have my canine companion, Zoe, put to sleep. She had come down with some sort of neurological disorder (which the vet believed to be tick-borne) this past week after recovering from a head wound she received after fighting with our other dog, Arf. Her lethargy and instability became much more pronounced with each day. So much so that she didn't object to riding about in the car at all. Zoe hated the car and would attempt to bite the dashboard each time she was subjected to motorized transport.
Zoe was found by my sister-in-law and her friend just wandering along the dirt road where we live (we don't know how old she was). Someone had abandoned her but she was taken in by Emily's family where it appeared she would stay. Soon afterward, she came to live at our house. I came to call her my little guardian because she was almost always by my side and when she wasn't, she was waiting for me. It wasn't unusual to find her sitting on the bath mat while I finished showering or scratching at the door upon hearing my voice in the bedroom on a given morning.
Last night, it was hard not to tear up upon seeing her little bed outside the upstairs bathroom or her torn up dog toy I still hadn't thrown out. Hell, I'm finding it hard not to tear up just typing this. If there is indeed a heaven, I hope it's full of meatballs and tummy rubs.