We buried 0ur good friend Thelma on Friday. When we got up in the morning, it was the last thing I thought I would have to do -- to end her life. But over the course of the day, I came to believe that it would be cruel to let her go on another day. Her legs collapsed several times when she tried to walk (although she made it to the river and back one final time. )
Three years ago, we had to end the life of her sister, Louise. It was heartbreaking that we kept her with us to the point that she would have to ask us to stop the pain. She stopped eating several days before she finally collapsed and couldn't get up. I only believed it was over when the vet said it was.
So we buried Thelma beside Louise in the back yard, and the two of them are now our reminder of the definition of true love. Louise was a scamp who would steal a stick from Thelma when she would fetch it by swimming out in the river. Louise would wade in to her belly and wait and then snatch the stick as Thelma approached the shore. Then she would deliver the stick near us but then play keep-away, making us chase her.
Thelma would then chase the next stick as it flew over the water, and the game would go on and on.
I think Louise loved Thelma the most. She always wanted to be with her and constantly sought her attention.
Thelma, on the other hand, loved us -- unquestioningly, thoroughly, despite the long weekends when we would leave her at home (with visits from a pet sitter) so that we could go sailing or visit relatives.
Friday morning, as usual, she was excited when I picked up her leash and the poopy bag. She walked slowly, haltingly but insistently to the end of the street and looked out on the water before she would consider turning for home. The same was true later in the day, but by that time, I was crying openly because I knew where the day would end.
She died in our arms.