Sunday evening my dog vomited, convulsed, and died. It was quite shocking, and is still a bit difficult to believe. I carried her outside, watched the heat escape her body, and checked the fire one last time for the evening. Alone.
Aside from an obsession with spheroids, she loved checking the fire. In human, checking the fire involves, well, checking the fire; but in dog, checking the fire means running around the yard barking like a maniac, but only after the door is opened. Apparently opening the stove door was like firing a starting pistol. She would follow me to the stove and whine until the door was opened, and with a high pitched yelp off she would go. Of course, usually before all of this there was the build up, in which I would ask her in Shatner: "Do... youuuuuuuuuu... want... toooooooooo (longer pause here)... ... CHECKTHEFIRE!?" I always meant to take a video of it and other things. Things were even more amusing with the addition of ducks since they liked to follow her around everywhere; she would run around barking with the ducks in lock-waddle slowly following her around with a chorus of quacks.
After I checked the fire, I double-checked to make sure she was dead. I kept hoping that maybe somehow she was still alive. I have now checked the fire several times since she died. I used to complain sometimes about all the barking, but things are too quiet now.
2 comments:
I am very sorry to hear that your dog died. She sounds very sweet and awesome. Thank you for sharing the story about checking the fire. It's a great way to remember her!
Very sorry to hear about your friend... "Dog" doesn't seem to be enough of a word to encompass what they are when they finally leave us; I raise my glass to her memory.
To answer your aeons-old question, I am out of Mordor, finally. Things are still precarious, but two-steps-forward-one-step-back is still progress. Heck, I might even update my blog sometime. :p
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