She lived to be at my side. She sat without being asked. Her black and brown snout always nuzzled my hand searching for treats.
My Kathy, a dachshund-terrier mix, was spending the week at the vet's. She was sick, and I was scared. She was a young, active dog. The illness appeared out of nowhere.
She had been an integral part of my life for several years, a pound rescue. The tests had not been good with no explanation as to why.
The call had been brief. Hurry. Not much time remained. The cancer had spread.
Tears. The rivulets continuously falling as the needle plunged forward. But I knew all of the pain would end. There would be no more.
I have had many dogs, many more than most. But losing them had always taken a toll.
It was the experience no dog parent wanted to endure.
The doggy-shaped indented pillow next to mine on my bed remains. While a piece of my heart is gone forever.