After a lovely 14 years together and about 17 years of life, my dearest, smelliest friend passed on 11.1.11.
We were killing time before the vet appointment so went to the Lake since she loved it there. Within minutes of pulling her out of the car and onto the the seawall stairs, she died in my arms. She really hated the vets to the end.
I took her name from Ovid's Metamorphosis. A line in the poem titled Clytie resonates so hard right now... "an excess of love begot an excess of grief."
I understand now people's need to believe in a thereafter.
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