Today was Greta's last day. I could go back and check my journals, and I'm not that sure, but it may be 16 years to the day that we picked up the cutest little 9-week old puppy from the SPCA, and that's also where she left us. I did not decide to let her go — I let John do it. So many things went wrong with her, that, well, if they could have brought her back to her happy self, I would have done whatever was necessary, whatever it cost, but the vet didn't think there was much chance that she would ever be well again, and there were signs that she might have kidney or liver failure or both. A lot of negatives, but I think her cry of anguish at 6:00 this morning was the worst. The rest of the details, well John knows and I know, but I will leave you with this picture of her in happier days. Maybe in the next week I'll post some puppy pics too.
We brought her in in her little red wagon, and that's the way she exited the world, wrapped in blankets, while we kissed her head and held her paws and told her how much we loved her.
It was exactly 16 years. I checked my old journal.