Times are hard at the cozy abode for our four-legged family members. The Old Man of the pack is in the hospital and not looking good. The Middle Girl has valley fever. The Annoying Fuzzy One is fine but befuddled by the absence of his big brother. The Old Man is severly anemic and the vet isn't sure why. He's on IV antibiotics and fluids... I am attempting optimism but falling short. ***Amended at 11:16 to say that the Old Man is going off to his rest. He was the girlfriend's dog; I have known him for five years. The abode will be very sad tonight and for quite some time to come.
Every time I've lost a dog I've sworn I'll never get another one. Then it happens again. These are the dogs the kids will remember as their childhood pets. The hardest kind to say goodbye to, the ones that still bring you to tears twenty, thirty years later.
Why do we torture ourselves this way with these bundles of happy, panting, unconditional love?