My neighbour's dog, Kaylar, died this week. The vet consulted on the phone said "deathly ill. probably dying". After some discussion, (her husband is out of town and I was being surrogate spouse, I think) we decided to end the poor dog's suffering humanely. I have dogsat her on occasion, the last time for five weeks, and I've seen her go downhill over the last few months. The vet said, liver failure. Poor sweetie.
thus, at 9pm on Monday night, another friend and I were out trying to dig a hole in the tundra (permafrost's not that far down...) and joking around about Six Feet Under. We buried Kaylar out near where Jazzy's ashes are, but Kaylar's in the valley behind the hill and Jazzy's up top.
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Do you suppose there is some sort of Valhalla where brave dogs go to spend eternity. The ones who have kept their yards free of squirrels, who have barked away bad guys?
Maybe its called Doghalla.
I think so. I think I'd like to go there, too, and have cookies and snuggles for the rest of time.
At one point, while we were digging the hole, Carol Anne went back to my truck to fetch something, and I heard Jazz' tags jingling, behind me. And there was a big juicy rabbit watching us for a while. The kind that you can chase for a long time...
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