Last Days

It's just shy of 4 in the morning when the small brown dog begins to cough, trying to clear the fluid from her lungs. It goes on for five painful minutes and leaves her shaken, short of breath and anxious. It leaves me trying to pretend it wasn't as bad as it sounded but in my heart I know I'm losing her. It leaves me praying to a god I'm not even certain exists that just this once, could You not take her in her sleep.

I promised myself - and her - that when there were more bad days than good, I'd let her go but each time I think we're there, she rallies. It's been fifteen and a half years and she's still active, reasonably agile, perky enough to play and even chase the occasional cat. At the same time, the coughing spells come more often, last longer, and are more severe. When they pass, I comfort her as best I can.

Of all the dogs who have shared my bed and board, she is the most ordinary and at the same time, the most exceptional. She's always been a naturally happy animal, even tempered and remarkably easy to train, calmly tolerant of every new addition over the years, friendly to strangers and patient with children. She's never been destructive or aggressive or even mildly bad mannered. At times, she was so laid back and well behaved, she was easy to overlook. Nobody ever accused of her being pretty but there has always been something endearing about those long legs, Dumbo ears, doe eyes and wild hair. She made friends of everyone she met and it was impossible not to love her. She charmed people. She's earned her rest.

I tell myself I will know when her bad days outnumber her good ones. I tell myself I will not allow her to suffer needlessly just so I can keep her with me. I hope I can make that be true.

Just not today.