by Lori Campbell
I knew he was dying. He stopped trying to get up on the bed
with me. I've had to help him these last few months. He was old.
He was fat. But he always came and put his front paws up and I
would grab his collar and heave and I would get him up. Then he
would burrow under the covers and sleep in the crook of my legs.
But he stopped even trying about a week ago. I knew he was dying.
He didn't eat much the last few days, but I would give him hot dogs
and bologna. When I came home yesterday and he was laying in my
daughters room, having trouble breathing, I gave him some bologna.
He could only eat half of it. I knew he was dying. Sam not eat
bologna? It was bad. He was old and fat. His heart was giving
out on him. On me. I was waiting for the vet office to open
when Sam got up and walked to the back door to be let out. He
seemed ok. The next time I looked he was laying in the grass
in the sun. He was breathing heavy but seemed ok. A few minutes
later I checked and he was laying at the bottom of the stairs.
I brought him some more bologna but he could barely raise his head.
He was drooling. I sat with him for a minute and held his paw.
Then I went in to call the vet. When I looked out the door two
minutes later my baby boy was dead. I'm glad he waited for me to get
home. I'm glad he went outside and didn't die in my 6 year olds
room. I'm glad I didn't have to make that decision to have him put
down. He went quickly, at home in the sun, without pain. It only
happened yesterday. After 12 years he's gone. But I still see him
out of the corner of my eye. Except when I turn to look he's not there. I really didn't think he would die.