(Morro Bay, CA)
My boy, Waldo, was a cast-off dog. We found him in the shelter. His first owners hadn't even cared enough to come and find him there. I just don't understand that. He was so loving, so eager to please, so full of life.
Waldo lived with us for eight years. He never asked anything but to be loved. He cried when we had to leave him and he filled with joy at our return. He asked so little and he gave so much in return.
He was my special friend. Every afternoon we would go walking and he was so happy just to be a part of the "pack," a part of me.
Last Wednesday we were happy and carefree. We went on our usual rounds and he ran and played and laughed and was his usual amazing, joyful self. In the middle of the night, though, he began having convulsions. After 24 hours in intensive care, three vets, all kinds of medications, he was gone.
I still see him everywhere... at the front door where he came to greet me with his favorite blue chew-toy in his mouth... at the counter of the candy store where he stood on his hind legs to wait for his daily treat... at the critter burrow in the park where his toenail marks can still be seen in the dirt. It hurts so much to see him there, and yet I dread the day when I can't see him any longer.
I hope that one day we will be together again in a better place, because, honest to God, if there is a "better place" that doesn't include Waldo, I just don't want to go!
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