Bubba, I Miss You, Kiddo, Every Moment of Every Day

It's been 49 weeks since we had to make that last trip to the vet. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry it had to end this way. I'm sorry we couldn't do more.

I still think about it a lot. We wished you would go your own way. For some reason it seemed you kept fighting. I'm sorry, little guy. I don't know why you wouldn't eat anymore. Why did you give up?

We tried. God knows we tried. We didn't want you to suffer anymore. Or did we give up? We promised no more surgeries. We couldn't make you go through that anymore.

You wouldn't eat one day -- remember? And I snapped at you, thinking you were just be you. I still feel horrible about that. It haunts me every time I think about it. I didn't know it was that bad.

I wish I could have known how it would go. I wish I could have been in front of you. Were you looking for me? Then you were just gone. (I just lost it.)

I'm sorry, kiddo. We tried to take care of everything. All the problems -- your paw, your eye twice, your diabetes, your lump, your ear, your cancer. Your death.

I'll never be the same. No matter what, you were the greatest, best dog ever.

I love you, Pickle

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