The vet says it's time.
He'll be here tomorrow between 12 and 2.
It's not like we didn't know this day was coming. It's been a year since he told us the end was near.
We expected it. We imagined it. We feared it. Some days, I even longed for it.
So what do we do, on a last day that won't stop raining?
Go to some favourite parks.
Sing some Rufatso songs.
Dwell on memories.
Ponder the future.
Eat lots of treats.
Tell him he's a good boy.
Have a cry.
Have a lamb shank bone.
Take one. long. deep. breath. after. another.
Ask each other if it could wait till the weekend. Or till next week. Or the end of next week.
If it really is true, that it's better to be a week too soon than a day too late.
What else is there left to do really, but say goodbye?
Letters To Santa 2017 — Morgan
1 hour ago