Well, I've been quoting my brother's father-in-law a lot lately because you know how it is. Life is just one damn thing after another.
As some of you know, I'm pretty much a dog person--except for the five years Ken and I lived in married student housing, I've always had one and often more than one. For the past few years, we shared our home with the Beast (Zora, a 180-pound newfie) and Beauty (Aggie, a not 180-pound Field Spaniel).
Now here's the wonderful thing about Aggie, not counting her stubby tail which NEVER stops moving. Aggie prefers the boys to me. She's over the moon about the kids, and while at times I've pointed out to her that if she'd only worshipped ME a little more, I would have never brought home Zora, I love how much she loves our guys.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, Aggie started having these violent seizures. At first she'd jump right back up on her feet after they were over. She'd look around and wag her tail and go "Dude! What was THAT all about?" And for awhile she seemed to respond to medication. But this weekend she began seizing more frequently and more violently. By Sunday night I could tell she no longer knew who we were.
I took her into the vet yesterday, who said it was time. So the family gathered and said our good-byes. I told her I expected her to be on the foot of Geoff's bed in London by nightfall.
And I'm sure she was.