Cybill

The night after we got back from Richmond -- I was looking for an apartment, of which I may say more later -- my parents' oldest dog, Cybill, went into a seizure, unable to move, gasping for breath. We had to have her put to sleep. The vet said that it might have been cancer, but even earlier that day she had been playing with the other two dogs. So while her arthritis was always a problem, it seems that what finally did her in came pretty suddenly.

Twelve years old is pretty good for a lab. I'm very grateful that we were here when it happened, so that she didn't have to endure pain for too long. And the fact that she was in such pain made it easier to accept the decision to put her to sleep. But it still hurts. What hurts more is the way she wagged her tail when I held her and petted her, in spite of the pain she felt. Even on her deathbed, she remained eager to be loved. I don't know how we could have loved her any more than we did.

The other two dogs won't go into my parents' room, where they saw Cybill dying, and they have been trying to find her around the house. They miss her too, which shouldn't surprise me, but it sort of does.

This seems to be a season of change for me.

She was a very good dog.