Megan died yesterday. Or, more accurately put, we had to put her down. Reason: catastrophic liver failure. We lost a very, very good friend February 7th. She’ll be missed. A lot.
A very sweet, faithful, loving and gentle dog who adored Sal. And accepted me for who I was. They don’t come much better.
The circle of life is sometimes not all that it is cracked up to be. Right now it feels like a deflated balloon. But we’ll cope.
Of course, my primary coping mechanism these days, as you know, is to blame the city. “Her liver worked just fine on the island!” We’ll get through this by condemning urban living. It is a useful palliative.
A lot transpires during a time like the one we had yesterday. One tends to focus on (perhaps) not always the right things. The vet didn’t seem all that great. The clinic was too warm. Cars are not good vehicles for transferring corpses. Traffic can get in the way. The woman at the pet crematorium was irritating. And unnervingly weird.
But I have also learned that my first emotional response to anything I don’t like is anger. First, I get mad. Then I get angry. Like it was the pet cemetery woman’s fault. And I know that about myself. I know it is just me. So, I do not punch her in the face. But I think about it.
So did Sal.
Who would have thought that such a job could be so potentially dangerous?
Anyway………………..Meg is gone. Just me, Sal and Fiddich now. We’ll be fine.