I took her to the vet right after Christmas. The cough had me worried, and for good reason. The doctor confirmed my suspicion: congestive heart failure. We went home loaded with drugs and the hope the medication would give her a bit more time.
It was only three months, but we took them. Sassy bravely maintained her daily routine, following me around the house, barking to be let out or in, lying next to me on the floor when I dozed on the couch or in bed, sleeping under my desk next to my feet as I worked in my office.
She had to be carried down to my office this morning to take her spot under the desk; she was too weak to navigate on her own. She passed on several opportunities to join the other dogs outside; she seemed satisfied to stay where she was.
Shortly after four I glanced down to look at her. She was lying on her side, her mouth in her resting semi-smile. But her eyes were open and non-blinking. I put my hand on her side- she wasn't breathing.
I've lost a lot of dogs, but this was the first to go naturally, as it were. She wasn't in any obvious distress. When sleep turned into that final deep slumber, she was where she liked to be: under my desk, at my feet.
She was a good girl.
"It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a little piece of
my heart with them and every new dog who comes into my life gifts me
with a piece of their heart. If I live long enough, all of the
components of my heart will be dog and I will become as generous and as
loving as they are."
–Anonymous
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