My mom called me last night to tell me that I wouldn't have to worry about how my little 13-year-old sheltie, Lady, would handle a new dog in the pack. Because of a number of wonderfully practical reasons--health issues and not wanting her to suffer from them—Mom had her put to rest sometime yesterday or the week previous. I don't know the specific date; I don't know that I care to, but for those of you who might have asked me about how Lady handled Prada's moving in? Not necessary, she's up there herding--well, probably more like running away from--those cattle on a thousand hills, as the verse goes. Yes, I believe in doggy heaven. Good bye, darlin'.
(The vet Mom took her to made a plaster-of-Paris paw print plaque of Lady for me but I didn’t want anything to do with it for a year. I’d had lady for about 8 years; she’d been a friend and helper in her own odd little ways for so long that I didn’t want a reminder of her loss. Now I have the plaque displayed (…somewhere on my desk, I think, it’s a bit cluttered!) as I’ve begun to cope with losing her. Having Prada there to comfort me really helped that day but my performance on routes suffered noticeably. I can only imagine what it will be like when Prada finally leaves me.)
No comments:
Post a Comment