This is Doggies' last day.

She is unable to walk without falling. She is skin and bones. She hasn't wagged her tail for six weeks. She can't eat. She doesn't act like she's suffering, but it is impossible that she's not. Karen and I discussed it at length last night; I'll take her to the vet today, and bury her in the back yard.

As I write this through my tears, she is resting peaceably, not struggling for breath right now. I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt, although I know that I shouldn't. She's had a long and happy life for a dog; plenty of kids to play with, cats to torment and ignore, people who loved her from the time she was a puppy. We have had long walks in the park with her, and we have many delightful stories to tell about her. We will miss her very much.

I will never again acquire a pet that might die before I do. This is way too fucking hard.

I can't even worry about quitting smoking right now.

More later.

It's done.

Very, very quietly, she slipped off. She was looking at me, trusting me, trusting my judgement. Trusting in my love.

I didn't let her down. Her suffering is over. Now she is free to be a happy memory for Karen and I and my kids and Karens' kids and our grandkids. We will remember her until we die.

I didn't have it in me to bring her body home and bury her. Her body is not important; just the memory of her has any value now. How much love she brought to this house!

That will do it for today. I have thoughts that I'm not willing to share right now.

Only One more day of having to smoke!