Inday is gone, and with her a piece of my heart.
I knew the day was not long in coming and had dreaded it. You never really own a dog — it owns you. “After these, no more,” my mother keeps saying. “It hurts too much.” Inday lived to 15, about par for a dog her size. “I don’t want to be there when mine goes,” Ghia says. Jenny agrees; she has two. “How could you stand it?” they ask.
I could not, but I had to. What I could not stand even more was for Inday to die alone. I owed her too much. Oh how she had fought! “It’s okay, baby,” I whispered to her. “You can go now, I’ll be alright.” I hope so, because I feel far from it. Right now there is a hole in my heart. There will forever be, as with all the dogs that I have loved and lost. Treasure your time with yours. It’s too short.
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