Last night, I lost my almost 13 year-old English Mastiff.
I knew he was dying. He told me so in his own words. He wouldn’t move. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t drink. He cried. But only because he wanted me by his side–not because he was sad or fearful or in pain.
I often wonder if dogs know when their time is up. Having watched two of my pups die, they get a look in their eyes that says, “Momma, it’s time.”
I sat with him last night until I could take it no more. He knew I was there. That’s all that mattered to him.
I woke this morning and first thing I checked. And I knew instantly…
The vet called this morning. I made my husband answer the phone and tell her.
I am only consoled by the life he led. It was good. REAL good. God put this creature in my life to care for and I did.
He was my misunderstood dog. Big. But afraid of people. Loving. But only to his “pack”. Demanding when it was time to eat. Quiet and content otherwise. No one else wanted him. But I did. And it goes without saying: loyal to the end.
He was a good, good dog. He will forever be missed. But he will forever be in my heart–with me wherever I go.
He’s with his sister now. They are running and playing together again. Awaiting me to join them. But having all the patience in the world…
I know he is happy. Content. At peace now. And loving me from above. I love you, my sweet, sweet pup. Forever.