I didn't need to make my own drama this weekend. It found me with a vengeance.
My dog, Tripper, died Saturday morning. He was 14.5 years old. I couldn't have asked for a better dog. I loved him so much, and I'm going to miss him. I can't even describe it. He was a part of the family, and watching him gasp those last few breaths was crushing. He'd been sick for a couple of days, but we thought it was just another spell. He sometimes went a couple of days sleeping a lot, and not eating much, but by Friday night, he wouldn't even get up to go the door. Dad put him out late Friday night, and he fell trying to get down the steps. I knew then that he didn't have much fight left. But I thought we'd have to bring him to the vet to.... He made the decision for us. He died at about 7:30 Saturday morning. I was with him, and so were my parents. He was home, and we were home with him. My brother was in Toronto, and didn't even know that Tripper was sick, so he's devastated. We didn't think to call him, because we never thought that there was much to worry about.
In November, when Tripper was having a spell, I said to Robyn one night, "I just want one more Christmas with him." He gave that to me.
I miss him so much.