How do you say goodbye to the most faithful friend you ever had?
How do you find a way to let go?
Look at my dear boy Thor.
And you should have heard him sing when I played the harmonica.
But his bones got old.
He was too tired.
The pain was too great.
His big brown eyes, dulled by a milky tinge, looked up at me pleadingly.
We gave him more tablets, stronger tablets that made him sick.
The vet gave him more injections which seem to spark him for about an hour and I wonder now if it was just the placebo effect because he knew how hard the young Vet – dear Holly – tried to help him with her potions and powders and jabs and suggestions.
Years ago, I heard of a Labrador who lived to be twenty and I thought that sounded a most suitable innings.
But Thor’s German Shepherd hips said otherwise.
Over the past few months, he had days where he reverted to a puppy again, prancing around in the back yard with a ball in his mouth, one puppy ear flipped back, clear puppy eyes laughing, big puppy mouth smiling, hips moving with the ease of youth. But then, the next day, he’d limp around like a worn-out old man, groaning in pain when he had to lift himself from the comfort of his bed.
And Old Father Time marches on.
Mother Nature takes her course.
Fate does what it will.
Today, the hours ran out.
We’d travelled all the avenues, overturned every stone.
Puppy Thor’s time was up.
Goodbye old Friend.