I know a lot of you have said your own goodbyes to dogs and cats. I still miss my heart-dog Jasmine after nine years. I can’t imagine how it tore Commentariat member Karen up to lose three in the first half of this year.
They break your heart. Every damn time. But life without them feels … heartless.
Robbie went to furrydoc today to see if she could find a physical cause for his nighttime panic attacks.
Short version: nope. Everything normal. He’s in great shape for an old guy. The only thing she discovered is that he has a urinary tract infection. (And who knows how long he’s had that? He never gave a sign.) So he’s on antibiotics.
That’s good news. Looks like no goodbyes to Robbie for a while. Still, I almost wish she’d found something … something that could be treated. Or at least understood.
She recommended melatonin and fish oil to improve his sleep, but I sure wish there was a way to get into that little bully head of his and find out what’s going on in there that has him so suddenly scared in the dark.
Robbie-Bobbie, what are you thinking? What are you feeling, my old baby boy?
That picture is three years old. He’s so much more gray now. Sigh.
It was an interesting trip down memory lane to visit the archives of the old blog (2003 to 2007) looking for Jasmine’s obituary. Once again I have reason to thank Bill St. Clair for being the archive maven.
And odd how the seventeenth century keeps popping up, lately. In the archives, just a few days from Jasmine’s story, I found lessons for gulchers from that century.
I had partner bloggers back in those days. Not everything in those archives is mine. Ian’s post on tactical hand signals was pretty good, too. 🙂 So glad that first link still works.
Now I’ll go and pet the pooches and mourn the lost ones, including so many, so loved that I never knew but who warmed — and broke — somebody else’s heart. And even more, the ones who could have lived and loved but never got the chance.