Lessons On Living

"If there is no heaven for dogs, 
then I want to go where they go when I die."

-Anonymous

I feel obligated to end the story even though there was ever only one possible ending.  In the end we had 17 days together.  Seventeen days. From diagnosis to saying goodbye.  Seventeen days.

I'm not a fan of the saying, "live each day like it's your last."  I get the idea, but think about putting that into practice.  Seriously, you'd get nothing done. Would you go to work?  Clean the house?  Watch TV?  Read a book? Exercise?  Say no to the triple scoop cone?  I honestly have no idea what I would do if it was my last day on planet Earth.

But here I was faced with every day possibly being Sally's last day.  And I did right by her.  She was never alone.  She was walked when she wanted to walk and carried when she couldn't walk any more.  She was fed whatever she wanted until food held no interest for her.  She was told, "I love you" at least a bazillion times each day.  And then on that last day I did the kindest thing I could do for her.  I took her to the vet and held her while she went to sleep forever.

Maybe that's the way to live each day like it's the last.  Maybe it's just that simple.  Hug your dog.  Be kind.  Love and be loved.

Sally was loved.