Update: Beaver spends most of his time laying down now. He is not accepting his favorite treat, a rawhide chew. He looks at me with questions in his eyes, that he doesnt understand what is happening to him and he wants me to help him somehow, but I cannot. Hes grown old, and the sparkle in his eyes has diminished. He shakes tremendously when he stands, as though his bones can no longer support his frame. If he makes it until tomorrow, perhaps medication will help. A dog that can not longer stand has already given up, and is ready to embark on the journey to the Rainbow Bridge. I will not allow any of those that I call my friend to suffer needlessly. I stand cautiously optimistic, but nonetheless a realist. Should it become necessary, Ill lead him to the bridge, but he must make the rest of the journey to the wide open fields on his own and under his own power. From that point, his slow methodical and labored gate will become a trot, then a gallop, and finally a full on run for all that hes worth, leaving the pain of age and this world long behind. To run with wild abandon, ears flapping in the breeze and tongue hanging out, tail high in the air, to his reward. Speak to me, little dog, Beaver, let me know what you want to do. Let me do the right thing by you.
Posted on: Sun, 27 Oct 2013 13:25:51 +0000
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