Sailor’s Granny E died ten days ago and I wrote how it seemed odd to me to cry over such a good life.

Well, Puppy Dog is having a bad day. In fact, she’s having more bad days. Her back knees are going and she’s falling down. A lot. I’m getting verklempt just writing this, but I had to call Sailor (and leave a message – he’s out to sea) about our girl and what I think may be happening very soon.

I cant write it. I can’t. I can not type the words of what is likely to happen.

I know what is going to happen so very soon and I can not even give the situation the dignity of words.

Puppy Dog has had a good run. She’s has had the best run. She’s 14…6 years older than the age of the last pup in her litter to pass on. She’s been ever-loving, frustrating as hell and just here. With me. In every new house, in every new town, on every adventure. She’s been my longest most successful relationship aside from my husband.

She fell down, again, this afternoon. I had to carry her into the house when she couldn’t make the stairs. Pain pills make her sick and aspirin doesn’t do anything.

I lie down with her and I read her Rumi. I don’t why. Rumi always makes me feel better. I read her e.e. cummings, Langston Hughes, and X.J. Kennedy. I don’t know why all the poetry.

Puppy Dog managed to hobble out to front lawn where she now lies. She’s on top of the hill overlooking the squirrels and kids she usually chases or barks at. Normally, I would be out there, watching her like a hawk, but I don’t need to. I know she’s not up for the chase.

I’m letting her enjoy the evening. I’m going outside now to enjoy it with her. We have so little time left and I’m terribly greedy of every minute.