I wonder how people who have been diagnosed with a terminal illness feel. How their family feels. As humans we live a long time – a very long time. So when we die young, in the middle of our youth or at the age of 40, it is shocking, surprising, and intensly painful to the people around them.
Please, don’t take offense to what is about to come, because really, I’ve been in near tears all day.
I have come to the realization that my dog is going to die. Not this week, or this month. But maybe next year, or the year after that. And no matter what I do – dogs don’t live as long as humans. G-dog is 14 years old. That’s archaic for a dog. I mean, technically – she is a “geriatric dog.” Umm… what? Now that she’s starting to show her age I feel like a death sentence has been placed on her head, and all I can do now is watch, and wait.
I’m ridiculously attached to this dog. I try to tell myself that I could have her put down in the morning, and then go to class that afternoon – but lets be honest. I cried taking her to the vet today because she had a highly uncharacteristic potty accident last night. Yeah – I’m a wimp. Gretel has seen me through so many hard times, and she gives me so much love when I need it. I’ll probably cry for days. And I mean days.
I guess I can just hope it is years away, and not sooner.