I buried my dog in the deep woods today, down where we used to walk when he was well. Kratos been ill for a year or so. On our last visit to the vet I heard words like “no obvious issues”, “possibly stomach cancer”, and “quality of life”. He’d been in steady decline and for the past few weeks I’d been dreading our final trip to the vet together. I told myself as long as he had the strength to wag his tail when he greeted me, that I’d feed him well and make him as comfortable as possible during his final days. This morning was the first morning in our relationship he didn’t meet me with a smile and a wag. He was laying on the deck I had built for him years ago, where he loved to soak up the afternoon sun on cool days. He looked peaceful. I don’t think he suffered, just wound down like an old clock.
