by Lisa Greene
Enjoying the snow, February 2009
Jazz, you came into my life almost ten years ago, a beautiful three year old with an ebony coat and bright shining eyes. Your former owner relinquished you to the shelter when he found that an electric fence could not contain you. His loss became my gain. You fit in perfectly with our family; you were gentle with the children, a fierce protector of all, and above everything else, you were my best friend and companion.
It seems that the years passed by so quickly; all too soon, your eyesight dimmed, you became hard of hearing and your limbs weakened. However, you still wagged that tail, gave lots of kisses and got a little thrill when you saw your food bowl being filled.
For a couple of months I had been preparing for the inevitable and last Thursday, that day finally came. It doesn't matter that I knew your time was coming; I was just as shocked as can be. After a sleepless night of cleaning up your accidents, it became clear to me that you would not get better, that you had indeed lost control of your bodily functions, and there would be no sense in prolonging the inevitable.
So, one last time I drove you to the hospital. You normally quivered like a leaf whenever you had to go there, but not this time. I think you knew what was happening and were at peace with it. I held you in my arms and felt your soul leave. I have wept bitterly each day since then and will for a long time. You, my friend, were truly one in a million. Until we meet again, I will hold you in my heart always.