My Coondog

Tomorrow, it will be 42 days since you died. I remember that last day - coming home from work to spend your last hours with you, simultaneously wanting that afternoon to last forever, and longing for it to be over already, because the hurt was overwhelming.

I was horrified at your helplessness - you, who had previously only been defeated by a malfunctioning smoke detector that once destroyed hours of my sleep, and all of your peace of mind, until you retreated to the bathtub, and there in your perfect dog-logic against the cool porcelain were safe again - and worried that you, too, were horrified.

You weren't horrified though. In those last days, when your muscles wouldn't obey you, something in you changed, and that tough, serious, challenging part of you was stripped away. You were sweet, and silly, and jolly, and so happy to have "your pack" with you. As much as I always loved you, I am grateful I got to experience that side of you too.

Your doctor called you a gentleman, and I was grateful for the dignity he allowed all of us to have. I'm sorry I cried so much while you were going. I would have liked to share one more smile with you.

I miss you every day. Thank you for being with me for the last ten years - always my friend, always my protector, always forgiving my mistakes. I love you, sweet boy.