I’m not in the mood to write much today.
My Carolina Dingo mutt always loved to lay by the bathroom door. I’ve had to open it 2 feet away and step over him for the past 12 (or more) years out of habit.
I petted him this morning as I stepped over him and told him, “You’re a good dog,” then I went on my way to work. When I arrived home, I stepped over him again — but something seemed off.
On my way out of the bathroom, I bent down to touch him. His body was cold.
To say my heart is broken is an understatement. A little piece of me feels as if it’s died today.
My better half buried him while I cried. I still can’t stop crying.
I know that if any of us could chose how to die, it would be in our sleep, as it had for Dingo. It will be a while before that can give me any peace.